With You, I Will Grieve
by hippiechick2112
Summary: Several Marine officers mysterious turn up dead, leaving NCIS to investigate. However, complicating the cases is Lydia Sullivan, who resolves to help navigate the maze of clues left behind by a murderer coming after her. First story in the series, "Everybody's Got a Dark Side".
1. Visiting a Dead Colonel

**With You, I Will Grieve**

**Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own the character and plotlines of _NCIS_, but do own the characters (like Lydia Sullivan and her family and friends and whoever else who is not on the show) I have created in this story. They are all mine and cannot be used without my permission please. I'm new to this (not writing fan fiction, but this TV show), so please be nice. I'm still working on the plotlines, but I have a basic storyline on this. But please be patient. I'll get this done!**

* * *

Dad and I were walking to Colonel Henderson's house in the afternoon sunshine, Washington DC's heat making me sweat despite the light dress I had on. The colonel was an old friend of the family and had served with Dad in Vietnam (when they were just young Marines running around the jungles of Asia fighting the Communists) and in Desert Storm (watching their men in the deserts of the Middle East). He was also the one who introduced Dad to Mom, was there when they got married…and when she died…and even babysat for us kids when we were wilder and younger. He even kept tabs with my older brother and sister, making sure that they were ok, especially after my sister had a child (my little nephew, Sam) and the father walked out on her and my brother enlisted in the Marine Corp after a series of schools and jobs.

Colonel Henderson himself was not married and was often living alone even in his retirement, save for his only nephew, Felix, who came by often enough. So, to return the favor for all he had done for all of us, Dad and I visited him once every week, sometimes a few times a week, and checked up on him. We chatted with him, catching up to some old times, and even invited him to dinner at our place in Alexandria. Each time was declined, regardless of how tempting the offer was. Hell, even my baking skills (which the colonel loved) could not make him park in our driveway

Before we went across the lavish front lawn to Colonel Henderson's apartment, Dad stopped me abruptly, making me almost drop my tray of cookies, a little something that I made for the colonel every week. Pulling me rudely by my thin dress strap and bra behind the bushes that characterized the whole apartment building (two large elephants artfully mastered in their likeness), he sneered at me, his face registering a cross between contempt and bitterness, as if I did something wrong once more, like my life had been a mistake from its conception.

"You had better behave yourself, Lydia. Do you hear me?" Dad growled at me. "I don't want to hear of you giggling with his nephew again. You hear me, girl?"

My breathing soon came into slow, gasping grabs, like I could not get enough air and needed to desperately get what I could _when_ I was allowed to. I felt like a fish out of water, flapping around and not being about to move back in. Oh, hell, it was my life…_period_.

"Yes, Sir," I answered meekly afterward, respectfully even, as if I could not make up for being the most unwanted, disobedient and disrespectful daughter he ever had. "I won't bother Felix anymore."

"Good." Dad let go of my dress strap and pushed me, letting me breath once more in relief, despite the impatient shove that he gave me.

Recovering the shock, I thought. Dad really shouldn't quite worry about Felix, but I like to keep it that way actually. He didn't know about Keith still (my ex Air Force boyfriend) and it made me glad to hear of that. Keeping up the pretense of some sort of flirty relationship with Felix still had to be maintained. I didn't like it, as did both Keith and Felix. However, they both felt it was necessary to deceive my father and to make sure that he did not suspect a thing for a while.

I followed Dad and walked up the front lawn with him, shaking as I was holding the tray of cookies. I dared myself to take a smell from them (peanut butter chocolate chip cookies) and smiled, knowing that my father was addicted to sugar of all kinds, but was highly allergic to peanut butter thankfully. Colonel Henderson could not share them with his friend, his brother-in-arms, the former Marine Captain Gregory Sullivan, but with me, his youngest daughter and child.

The front door unlocked, we entered the three-story apartment building – fancy, neat and without any insect infestations or cracks and crevices – and walked upstairs to the top floor. Little yap-yap dogs with dyed pink fur barked behind the doors of the first two occupants as we crept up the stairs together. Shuddering, I remembered that two older women, who held little appeal to the colonel, lived in those apartments. They also liked to pinch my cheeks and say how lovely I am every time I was seen, albeit a little chunky and prone to embarrassment beyond words.

Breathless with anticipation of the upcoming wonderful visit and silent with each other as always, Dad and I made it to the last floor together and stood side-by-side at the door, as if on inspection for the colonel. Then, Dad, stiff as always when he was not threatening, knocked on the door, but received no answer. Usually, we did get one, as the colonel always knew we were coming (calling the night before, last night being no exception). On the appointed day, he seemed to be at the door even before we even came.

Dad knocked again, calling out. "James? James, are you in there? Lyddy and I are here."

"Maybe he's sleeping?" I suggested out loud quite bravely, remembering dimly that Colonel Henderson liked to nap in the afternoons, especially when it was hazy, hot and humid outside, even though the air conditioning in the house was working perfectly fine. The more comfortable he was, the more of a mood he was in for a nap.

"Why don't you shut up about things you don't know anything about, Lyddy?" Dad asked me, knocking once more on the door, gagging on the smell of peanut butter as he tried to breathe in the cool air of the apartment. "James, are you in there?"

Ah, there it was again. _Lyddy_…now, that was a pet name of mine that I had not heard out of anybody's mouth since Mom died, seeing as how it was a nickname she had given me when I was three. Maybe, perhaps (hopefully?), Dad was becoming sentimental with age? I doubted it. It's been thirty years since he got out of Vietnam and practically fifteen since Desert Storm. And since that time, he's been harsh, angry and bitter about everything. Visiting Colonel Henderson, his former commanding officer, had put the edge off of his bite. He would laugh with his former wartime buddy and joke around, hiding everything he had done to me, pretending that everything was normal. No words were spoken about the abuse I had endured, and it was hidden well too, even the black eyes and broken bones.

Shaking my head with the memories, I suddenly realized that I needed to back away from the situation before Dad shoved me aside. I started to step backwards, to let Dad into the doorway fully, but was stuck to the floor by some sticky substance. It felt like the maple syrup I had gotten in my good Sunday shoes once when I was six, but worse. It had a strange metallic smell to it, like it was notoriously famous, sneaky in its ways…sinister even.

When he saw what I was doing, my father noticed it as well, and stepped back along with me, shocked as he found the source. All of that…redness…was under the door. Red, sticky and smelling weird…yep, it was that thing they called blood. But why was there all that blood on the floors of this apartment, namely (possibly) Colonel Henderson's?

It was a good question that required an answer and _I_ was not going to be the one who tried to open that door to find out.

"Move out of my way, Lydia," Dad finally ordered, after a few minutes of complete silence and shock. He then pounded on the door one more time, yelling for the colonel to open up.

Finally, totally frustrated after a few minutes of banging on the door and screaming Colonel Henderson's name, Dad kicked open the door with the training he had learned, demonstrating to me once more how powerful he was, even at his age. However, when he looked inside to the colonel's living room ahead, I didn't think his training would have prepared him for what was there, not even what he received before going to Vietnam.

I didn't close my eyes, but looked inside instead with curiosity, dropping my tray of cookies in the blood puddle and gasping with fright as Dad stood completely still, seeing the scene before us. Colonel Henderson was hanging by his feet on his own living room ceiling, his head and chest covered in a few gory holes shot into him.

Suddenly, though, before I could even register what was around me, I felt my body being pushed out of the way. Dad had me by the ears at the stairwell before I knew it, then guiding me into another corner with blood trailing from our shoes, throwing me his cell phone as I was cornered. He was saying words that I could not hear, could not even possibly _begin_ to comprehend fully, especially with that dead colonel in there…

"Did you even hear what I said, dammit?" Dad finally screamed into my ears (the first words that I understood) as I slumped into the corner, the hot sunshine from the window hitting me in the face.

"No, Sir," I whispered back.

_No, no…not again. It can't happen again!_

I was trying to keep a straight face despite everything. After all, it was the second time I had seen a dead body, the second time I had discovered another dead body in a year, and it still killed me.

Dad pointed to his cell phone in my hands. "Call NCIS _now_, Lyddy. I put the number in already. Just call them."

"NCIS?" I asked him, very confused. I didn't what it was or what the letters stood for. All I knew was what I had to call somebody and do it fast before Dad beat me…again.

"Yes, Lydia, call NCIS – Naval Criminal Investigative Services. I want you to call the agency and ask for Marine Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs."


	2. The Investigation Begins

I watched from a corner of the area outside of the apartment as people milled in and out: agents, medical examiners and even the DC Metro police. After all, my trembling fingers called the number Dad had put into his cell phone, the call for help that brought all of these people in.

On the phone, I was horribly shocked. Just like a robot, I mechanically talked to this person on the other end, asking specifically, as asked, for this "Marine Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs". The operator apparently recognized the name, but not the Marine rank, and had only replied to me that they would send a team out to Colonel Henderson's apartment as soon as possible with _Special Agent_ Gibbs of NCIS heading the investigation into the murder.

"May I ask who is calling, Sweetie?" the woman asked me soothingly. She was gentle with me the whole time, telling me to calm down numerous times as Dad looked at me with distaste from his position at the door (watching me and the dead body of Colonel Henderson in equal, even intervals), as if the offending cookies on the floor were in his mouth and giving him hives. "We need to know who put this call in so that Special Agent Gibbs and his team can talk to you when you're ready."

I paused for a moment or three, trying to figure out whether or not I could say that I called because the credit was truly not mine. Well, I did talk and report the incident, but Dad was the one who threw his cell phone at me instead of me picking up my own and dialing nine-one-one or something. Why my father could not do it, I cannot say.

However, before I could look to Dad for an answer and ask what I should say, I noticed that the two old ladies from the lower floors had come upstairs with their dogs, so the scene was serious, and yet so comical, to say the least. The two women and two dogs were talking and yapping while Dad tried warning them off and telling them to leave the area immediately, since it was now a crime scene. He was keeping himself occupied with the old biddies and their hideous animals, so I had to fend for myself.

"Sweetie? Are you still there?" The woman on the other end of the line waited for my answer patiently enough, but the length of silence on my side was getting annoying to her.

"Yes, I am." I thought for a second. "The person who is calling is Captain Sullivan's daughter, Lydia."

"Ok, Lydia, just hang in there. Special Agent Gibbs will be there soon."

"Soon" had not been defined, but I found that it turned out to be ten minutes, nothing more. And in those ten minutes, police officers milled in and out (those little old ladies putting too much faith into them, but they always made me nervous, twitchy even) and the next door neighbors came up to see what was up with Dad telling them to go away. They seemed nosier than the old ladies and poked around a lot, but soon were chased away when Dad threatened to have them charged with interfering with a criminal investigation.

In no time, the NCIS team pushed them aside (as well as the ladies and neighbors) as they came upstairs, taking jurisdiction over the local police and shooing them away with the rest of the rubberneckers. The medical examiner from the police department came in as well, behind him the one from the NCIS. Soon, though, the head agent of the group kicked him out, leaving his own team to investigate the room where Colonel Henderson was shot and killed.

"Mr. Palmer took a detour through the city, I'm afraid, Jethro," the NCIS medical examiner said to one of the agents, the leader, the one with a scowl on his face and grey hair matching his most possible personality. "I apologize for this late entrance, as always."

"Doctor Mallard, are you saying that I can't drive still?" The person obviously named Palmer replied almost sarcastically, sounding slightly insulted. With dark brown curly hair, the man appeared to be no more than a decade older than I am, maybe just a few years older.

"No, but it seems like you should be learning how to use a map."

"Doctor Mallard, you _had_ the map."

The grey-haired agent had gone up to Palmer as he carried equipment to the living room and stood before him, stopping him dead before the door (no pun intended). Palmer was frightened for a minute, gulping and then excusing himself as he went around the agent. He and Doctor Mallard then looked at the body and examined it as three other agents worked around them, taking pictures and teasing each other with words I dared not use on others in my family, save for my mother maybe.

Except, of course, Mom's dead…just like Colonel Henderson.

After the teasing had been interrupted by the head agent, orders were barked out and the agents stood in attention almost. "DiNozzo, check the apartment building –"

The agent in question stood in attention. "On it, Boss…check out the old ladies downstairs and ask around to see if the colonel had any problems anybody with or enemies or something."

The agent named DiNozzo, who had so gallantly interrupted the head agent, jogged out of the living room and preceded down the stairs, his camera tossed to the only female agent on the way out. She huffed, frustrated that he did it, but set it aside outside of the apartment as she grabbed a stretch pad from a bag. She then continued to work, drawing out the scene and then using her own camera to take pictures.

"Boss, nothing has been found except the body and a gun on the floor in the blood below the body," another agent reported to the leader a few minutes of silent working later, before another order could be yelled out. "There are no slugs stuck in the wall or obvious evidence that somebody else was in the room, like footprints or anything. There might be gunshot residue in the colonel's hands. The gun _has_ been fired recently, but we can't tell if he fired it until we get it back to Abby in the lab. Ducky has said already that he might have held the weapon."

"_Nothing_ else has been found, McGee?" the lead agent asked, his intimidating tone making the younger agent almost shudder.

"W-w-well, it is preliminary findings, Boss, but we'll continue to look for more evidence," the agent named McGee replied hastily, stuttering some incomprehensible muttering as he returned back to the scene of the crime.

"You drive them hard, Jethro…_too_ hard. Why don't you give them a break?"

Dad had been almost cowering in the background, just as I was, and hid well in the tight corners as everybody worked without our witness statements. He had come up to the person he called Jethro (I assumed him to be Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, that I was asked to call up) and stood next to him as if they were the greatest of friends and knew each other well.

"I trained them well, you mean, Greg," Gibbs replied carefully, sipping from a cup of coffee that he had been holding the whole entire time.

"There's a difference between slaving and training!" Dad retorted back, showing his irritation to Gibbs. "You should know that. James and I taught you that in Desert Storm."

"Yeah, and look where it got a lot of the men!" Gibbs turned back to confront Dad, heated. "You don't tell me how to do my job and I don't tell you how to do _yours_, Captain Sullivan. Now, get out of the way. We'll question you and your daughter in a few minutes."

"Oh, there's no need to question Lydia, _Gibbs_. I can answer for my daughter. She doesn't need to be interrogated by you _or_ your people."

Even _I_ turned my head with that comment. _I_, who was always meekly following my old Marine father in all things and shutting up when told to, talking when prodded to, almost screamed in the unfairness the situation. Hell, I almost got up from my corner, wanting to punch my father in the face for assuming that I was still a child and a minor, at that. He could not speak for me to these people. No, he could not! I was twenty-three years old. I could speak for myself in all things even though I'm oftentimes rendered stupid and shocked when presented with a major problem like a murder…or suicide, as it looked like.

Gibbs saw my face of determination and motioned that I stay where I was, to let him handle the situation. He even smiled clandestinely at me, as if we shared secrets and thoughts together, and turned back to Dad in anger once more.

"Captain, I or my agents will question one and all who might be involved in this case or might help us solve it. I understand that all of your children are legal adults, including Lydia. Now, are you going to hinder the investigation of the closest friend that you had in the Marines or are you going to let me and my team do my job right?"

"You've always been an asshole, Gunnery Sergeant." Dad smiled, as if he was forcing himself to be nice, but could not stand the person he was talking to and I knew it.

"It's _Special Agent_, by the way, Captain."

"Special Agent Gibbs, then…yes, yes, I'll let you talk to my daughter. But only if I am in the room with her."

I held my breath in. Dad was driving a _hard_ bargain. Whatever it was, he was holding some grudge against Gibbs and his team and was using his control over me, as if to flaunt that his youngest child (also known as his "rape child") was still next to him and living at home with him, on a job controlled by him. He obviously was also trying to play nice when something triggered him to turn against the people who were supposed to be helping him. Instigator, yes, he was…nicer afterward, we're seeing now.

The wheels in my head were also turning again. It was also clear to me that Dad knew the man from long before. Desert Storm, or so he said. So, there was a history between the two. What it was, I could not tell. However, whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"I speak with her alone and with nobody in the room _if_ she is comfortable with it," Gibbs answered without a waver in his conviction. He then turned to me. "What do _you_ want to do, Lydia?"

Hmmm…it was a question that nobody had asked me in a long time. Again, it was Mom that used to ask me that, before she got sick and drunk. She was the last person (other than Keith) to make me feel like a human being, like I _belonged_ on this planet. She was the total opposite of Dad in every way, which made me wonder many things…like why she married him and had not run away with us kids when he became abusive.

I needed a neutral, safe answer, though, and I needed it fast, something that would pacify the both of them. I racked my brain for a split second before words flowed from my mouth without me thinking about them. "I'll do whatever is comfortable with you, Special Agent Gibbs."

"What did you do to her, Captain? Train her to obey like a puppy, like you did with the other two kids?" Gibbs appeared livid for a second again, but softened when he saw me, smiling when he peered into my eyes for some answers. However, when he faced Dad once more, he added in a threatening tone, "I'll be at your place tonight at nineteen hundred hours. Be prepared."

Then, Gibbs suddenly took Dad to one side of the hallway, holding him by his uniform collar as he dragged him, growling as he threatened (or promised, I could not tell), "And your daughter had _better_ be safe and sound or else they'll be more than one dead soldier today."

Releasing Dad and pushing him away, Gibbs sipped his coffee and demanded a report from his team. From what I heard, as the agents started finishing up, the deed was done four to six hours before, there were no signs of struggle and, obviously, the killer knew the best way in without _breaking_ in and leaving any evidence of his or her stay at the apartment (and they had not found much). DiNozzo, returning from his assignment half an hour later, had reported that nobody heard anything, that the colonel was retired and did not work on any projects for the military, as far as everyone knew, and that we were usually the only people who visited him, save for the old ladies downstairs occasionally and his nephew, Felix Henderson.

"So, we're looking for somebody who knew Colonel Henderson very well," the female agent suggested as she came out of the living room and out into the hallways with the other agents. She then looked me squarely in the face, as if I were a suspect, and then turned back to Gibbs.

"Yeah, but _Ziva_, that list is pretty much everybody we've interviewed so far," DiNozzo replied snobbishly, looking to me and Dad, now standing by me and putting a restrictive hand around the back of my neck, as if he was protecting me from something…or someone.

"Then deduce the list and we'll go from there." Gibbs sighed, sipping his coffee again as the covered body of Colonel Henderson – cut down – came through the hallway and went down the stairs.


	3. Anybody Could Be a Suspect

Special Agent Gibbs came right on time, at nineteen hundred hours (or seven in the evening, I should say, for civilians). He brought none of his other agents with him and came alone to our front door, sipping from another Styrofoam coffee cup when I opened the door to his knock.

By then, I was dressed in ratty jeans, a t-shirt and apron, done with making more cookies (and sweating, sucking in the air conditioning in the house). My father needed the sugar daily (something to have to do with being the opposite of a diabetic and needing the sugar, but I couldn't remember the disease for the life of me), so I baked. Like I said, we had A.C., so I didn't mind it as much. However, I _did_ mind being the maid of the house and not being able to speak up for myself.

In any case, I could not bear it, could not even open the dusty room left alone for a year now. I did everything for _him_, but that one thing he ordered me to do. And I could never do it. I could _never_ go in there and clean it out.

"Hey, Lydia," Gibbs greeted me warmly, coming through the front door as I stepped aside, the heat from outside oppressing us, beckoning at us to come back within its fold and to stay there.

As I closed the door quickly behind us, Gibbs came up to me and held me by the chin as I looked into his eyes. As he put the coffee cup on the side table next to the door (the hallway going to the living room where Dad was, the whole journey to the living room totally covered in furniture and mementos), he put his other hand and traced the flour caked on my face – my cheeks – with his pointing finger.

"Did he give you any trouble today?" he asked me gently, looking into my eyes as well.

"No, he didn't," I replied carefully, _truthfully_, knowing that Gibbs could see the lies in my eyes just as easily, as I've learned quickly. "Dad ordered his usual drinks at his bar in the basement, asked me to bake his cookies again and sat in the living room, doing his crossword and Sudoku puzzles while listening to the news. I think he also talked with somebody on the phone because it otherwise would sound like a one-person conversation. He's many things, but Dad's not one of those that talks to himself."

"I take it that's the routine when he's told to behave himself?" Gibbs looked a little amused, some merriment lining his usual rough face.

"I guess. I've never seen it before. He's usually more…I don't know. He's more abusive and ridiculously manipulative, I think, if he's not told to get back in line."

"It's only because he's been through too much and can't handle it. He thinks everybody is the enemy and takes it out on people he's supposed to care about."

"I've figured, but I don't think it's an excuse."

"Why?" The Special Agent had let me go, picked up his coffee cup and watched me behind a stoic face, hastily hiding his emotions, as if he didn't want me to know anything about him.

"As they always say, there's no excuse for abuse, even if somebody is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

_That_, I was adamant about, but, then again, I almost covered my mouth with shame.

_What was I saying? What am I talking about? This is a Special Agent of N.C.I.S. who knows more than I do, knows everything about loss and war and about life in general. Who am I to tell him about there being no excuse for anything? How stupid can I be? Oh, my God, Lyddy, even Keith would tell you to shut the hell up with that big mouth of yours!_

If Gibbs was angry or upset with me for saying what I did, he did not show it. He did not even smile at me, to indicate pleasure either, but only said to me, "I already asked your father some questions earlier on the phone and will talk with him after I discuss this incident with you. In the meantime, is there any place in this house where we can sit and talk? I'm sure this is a shock to you and it would be better for you to sit down and talk about it."

"I'm fine, Special Agent Gibbs. We can talk here."

"_Gibbs_ will be fine, Lydia. You don't need to address me properly like that."

"Either way, _Gibbs_, it'll be easier to talk in this hallway. There's a table and some chairs a few feet from here, as you can see. The walls do have ears, you know?"

Gibbs smiled at me finally. "I understand, Lydia."

Motioning that I lead the way, I walked Gibbs to the hidden table and chairs between Dad's study and Mom's old gardening room, where the former was dark, forlorn and with too many corners while the latter had the windows reached from floor to ceiling in a spectacular show of light and beauty. With such a contrast, I did not think that people would notice such an ordinary set of chairs with a table, right to one side of the hallway across from the stairs leading to the second floor. There, we sat down calmly enough, awkwardly enough, without saying a word to each other. It was then, a few minutes of staring at each other wildly later, that Gibbs finally talked to me.

"I understand that all you did was go over there and see the dead body, Lydia, but I also need you to tell me what else you now about Colonel Henderson."

I sighed, my fingers tapping each other as I played with them. "I've known him for my whole life, Gibbs. He used to babysit me and my siblings when we were younger, when our parents were arguing or walking out on each other. He took care of us when nobody else would. We even had rooms, before he moved into that apartment. Mara and I would share a room and Jay and Felix would share the other."

"Have you seen your siblings lately?" Gibbs looked at me, his mouth almost twitching.

"Jay's in the Marines and over in Iraq right now," I recounted quickly, "and Mara has been busy with Sammy, my nephew. They've been vacationing in California, meeting up with Sammy's father's family because they wanted to see him."

When I saw Gibbs' face register something close to curiosity, I added, "Jay's unit is the First Tank Battalion and you can check his alibi. I'm telling you, he's in Iraq! He couldn't have snuck back into this country, killed Colonel Henderson and went back. It's not possible. He's not up for leave until Christmas, maybe."

"What about Mara's alibi then? Do you think she had time to come back here?"

"You can call the Reddington family in Las Angeles, California. My father has the number somewhere, I'm sure, because he calls her nightly to harass her. Or, I'm _pretty_ sure you can visit Mara when she comes back, too. She lives across town. I visit her often. I can give you an address when she gives me permission. Shouldn't take more than two days."

My voice had become cold. I didn't care that these questions were supposed to be asked, but it still pissed me off, nonetheless, because Gibbs assumed the worst in Jay and Mara when there was nothing. My siblings were not capable of killing Colonel Henderson. My brother, yes, but he's not here in D.C. He's in Iraq, getting blown us, like the rest of them…

"You know that I can get it through other channels quicker." Gibbs matched my cold voice.

"Go ahead then," I replied as I crossed my arms.

I think Gibbs had enough of my attitude ("lack of" are better words, but it would be something my parents would say it was) because he said afterward, as he uncrossed my arms gently, "Listen, Lydia, I'm not your father. I'm a friend. I have your back. Now, you know that I have to ask these questions. It's important what your siblings are capable of, especially your brother. You know that."

"But Mara –" I began.

"Would not hurt anybody unless it was necessary. I know. I wouldn't hesitate, either. However, she could be a suspect. She's just as close to Colonel Henderson as you are."

I gulped, my stubbornness flowing out of me as the importance of the situation hit me. This was a murder investigation, which could guarantee life in prison or the death penalty. Mara could be in serious trouble is she wasn't careful, especially if she wasn't where she was supposed to be at the wrong time. And Sammy, poor child, can't be caught up in something like a murder.

"I understand, Gibbs," I finally said after a moment. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe it."

"It's tough, I know. And you said you knew Colonel Henderson for many years." Gibbs went back to business, as usual, accepting my apology without quite saying so. "Do you know anything about his nephew, Felix Henderson?"

I looked behind me, where Dad was visibly stretching out in his rocking chair, scratching his head as did some puzzle. I didn't want him to hear anything I wanted to say, so I whispered. My secret life had to be kept that, after all.

"Felix is somebody I…flirt with in front of Dad. He's also somebody who hangs around Colonel Henderson a lot and knows where everything is and how to help him. I honestly have a boyfriend up in Silver Spring named Keith Gaines, who is ex Air Force and who has served in Afghanistan and then stationed in Saudi Arabia. My father doesn't like him and doesn't know I'm still dating him. He thought we broke up, which we did two years ago, and I kept it that way when we got back together, if you know what I mean. So, to keep the heat off of me, Felix agreed to play suitor. What I know about him, other than he's the Colonel's nephew and that his parents have been dead for many years now, isn't a lot. He's twenty-five, in college and doesn't have many _true_ friends. He takes kindly on the Colonel and comes in every week, every time we come up, until today."

"What was strange about him not seeing him today?" Gibbs asked, writing everything down in quick jabs and then putting the notepad away.

"Well, usually we walk to Colonel Henderson's together," I replied carefully. "Felix called Dad this morning and said something about his classes. He does have summer classes, you know. I just don't know which college. But, anyhow, I thought it was strange because today is Saturday and he doesn't have a class on Saturday. We know his schedule because it's posted on Colonel Henderson's refrigerator."

When I saw Gibbs' face change back to what it was when I mentioned my siblings, I added, "But it doesn't mean he wasn't hiding something, either, Gibbs. He does some things that the Colonel doesn't approve of and doesn't let my father know about just in case he's tattled on."

"Like what?"

"Drinking, smoking weed and cigarettes, coming out with his sexual orientation…things like that. You know. Normal college behavior. He parties almost every weekend and invites me sometimes. I don't usually go with him, because I don't have a way to sneak out, but he's brought me to one of them once or twice and told my father that I was with him all night and that I spent it on his couch. It's true, since the parties are at his house sometimes. Well, the times I went, they were. But still."

Gibbs only nodded. "Do you think Felix had any grudges against his uncle?"

"I don't think so," I replied carefully again, knowing it to be true. "Other than all that I told you he did, I don't think he hated the Colonel for any reason. He was kind and generous to his only nephew. He didn't like what he did at his parties or that he was homosexual, but I think that's about the only extent of the disagreements they got into."

"Ok, then," Gibbs sighed. "Can you think of anybody else that would do any harm to Colonel Henderson?"

"Oh, no," I only said, sounding like I was protesting and stereotypically saying how innocent and good he was. "Colonel Henderson was generally likes by one and all who met him. He was a thoughtful and caring man when he was around everybody, as far as I knew. He cared for his family when he could. He doted on Felix when possible. I knew that he donated to a charity that helped children who had been abused and another that helped with children that had disabilities. I don't see a reason why he was killed."

"Well, it was obvious, according to the scene, that the person who came into his _secured_ apartment was somebody he knew," Gibbs revealed. "That's why I'm asking you, Lydia, since you and your father see him often. It's important that you think about this carefully. Somebody had access to Colonel Henderson's apartment and knew how the household worked."

I worked down this information, comprehending it. It made sense, seeing the apartment and the body like that, but it still sent chills up and down my spine.

"Furthermore," Gibbs continued, "this wasn't a suicide. It was a homicide."

I figured as much. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?" I then asked.

"Yeah. Can you tell me how much training your boyfriend had?"

"A lot, seeing as how he was a bomb technician," I replied, remembering what Keith told me, things I could never understand. "But he doesn't know Colonel Henderson. I try to keep my family matters out of our conversations. However, he does like Jay and Mara. He went to school with Mara and Jay has been following him like a faithful follower since Mara introduced us to him nine years ago."

The Special Agent raised an eyebrow.

"He's seven years older than I am," I explained. "My sister was in the same 'Special and Gifted Program' as he was and liked his rough and tumble manner and brought him here. Jay looked up to him. We've known each other for all those years and have been together for four."

"And so began a long relationship," Gibbs chuckled briefly. "Now, Lydia, I need you to give me an address or phone number. I need to reach your boyfriend."

"He's not –" I tried again.

"Your boyfriend could still be dangerous, Lydia, no matter how many years he's been discharged out of the Air Force, honorable or dishonorable. If I find out more information about him and he has the skills of a killer that could easily break in someplace and kill an innocent man, then he's a suspect. And he looks like one right about now. Do you understand this?"

I nodded.

"Training for war is deadly," Gibbs then explained, getting up, stretching. "You should know that, too. Now, I need to talk to Greg. Will you excuse me?"

I accepted his sudden exit to the living room, where I pointed him to, but when Gibbs left and started to talk to Dad in whispers, I wondered. _Is Keith capable of killing Colonel Henderson? Is Felix? Could they have conspired to kill somebody? Felix couldn't possibly murder the only man who raised him. And Keith…could he have known something about Colonel Henderson that I didn't? I knew that he killed with reason and always had._

I shook my head. It could not happen. No, they were people who took care of me, people I trusted. Why should I suspect them, anyhow?


	4. Stairway to Heaven

It was about three in the morning when I finally heard Dad snoring in the room across the hallway. So, it was that time that I decided to call Keith. He had insomnia half the time, so it was a hit or miss when I called him at that time of the morning. And usually, if I called, I was disturbing him if he was on Facebook and/or Myspace or he was up playing a video game, either on his Gamecube, Play Station or Nintendo 64. If he could, he would be playing with the Nintendo D.S., but I wanted to save that gift for Christmas…if we were still together. We've had a tough relationship and broken up four times (a pregnancy scare in-between), but always got back together. I wasn't hoping for a lot, but I still love him, from the day we met onward.

Sighing, I thought it safe to call Keith, using my usual spot in the closet to talk. I needed to warn him about what was going on and especially about Gibbs. Dialing his cell phone number quietly from my own cell phone (another secret I keep from my father), rationalizing that it was an emergency of sorts and that I didn't need to wake up his roommate (Andrew), I waited anxiously, my heart doing its usual flip flops, as the phone rang once, twice, thrice…

"Lydia, I thought I told you to call when it was important."

Finally, that growl that I loved so much came into my ears, muffled by blankets and Andrew's A.C. At the same time, though, it also caused me to shudder. I didn't like annoying Keith all that much and tried avoiding arguments (I thought one was coming on because I knew that I woke him up). They always made me cry and become defensive and we wouldn't talk for days.

"I think this is important, Dear," I replied in a hush, knowing that his growl was a little more than loud.

Keith sighed audibly, waking up in an instant. "Ok, Dear. What is it?"

"Are you sitting down?" I had to make sure that he'll be ok when I told him the news about Colonel Henderson and about how Gibbs was going to question him in the murder because he was a good suspect. I was fine (still shaking), but I wasn't sure how Keith would react to something like that.

"Why should I be sitting down? If it's about your father dying, then I wouldn't need to be sitting. I'll be rejoicing and desecrating the body before they cremate or bury him, that child molester."

I shook my head, knowing the mutual hate between the two. Keith's hatred was understandable, but Dad's wasn't. Besides the last statement being debatable, I found no reason why the other had to be so stubborn (other than Keith having untreated P.T.S.D. and the V.A. thinking that he's faking it) and beat me every time he heard about Keith.

"Come on, Lydia, just tell me. If you thought it was that important, you wouldn't be calling me. I trust your judgment."

I sighed, ready to get it out there and be blunt about it. "Ok, Keith, I'll tell you now. My father's friend from Desert Storm was murdered."

There was nothing _but_ silence on the other end of the phone. For a second there, it sounded like Keith had accidentally hung up on me (his phone has a mind of its own) or he wasn't talking because he was mad about me calling at that hour about someone dying. However, when I heard his breathing on the other end, I almost sighed again, except in relief somewhat. He wasn't quite mad nor was he screaming at me. Good sign, I'd say.

"So, what does this have to do with me?" Keith finally asked me when I realized those moments he wasn't speaking was when he was thinking. Hell, I could almost imagine him shaking his head or sitting there, wondering how he was going to comfort me…_this_ time…if I was super upset. He didn't even know what to do with me last year.

"Colonel Henderson was a Marine officer, remember," I started to explain, "and N.C.I.S. was let in to investigate his murder after Dad and I found…him. And well, I was being questioned by Special Agent Gibbs and he was getting me to name people and –"

"Hold on, hold on. You're telling me that you told this Special Agent that I was in the Air Force? Lydia, does he realize that I can kill, but I didn't know this person until probably this moment?"

"I hope so, Keith, because I was told that it was a homicide and the person who did the deed knew how to get in and everything. Ok, so you don't know him. However, you've done criminal things in –"

"Dear, Lydia, that was a long time ago and before I met you, before I went into the Service. And I did it in order to _survive_. I made break-ins into houses and apartments for things to sell, making it look like somebody just walked in and took off, as normal as could be. I jacked into cars and stole stereos to sell so that my family could have food. And I make a _damn_ good babysitter."

"Either way, you're a suspect. Gibbs is bound to find out everything about you and he might use it against you."

"Does this Gibbs happen to be military or an ex?"

"Ex Marine, I think."

"Damn Jarhead…I can handle him. Don't worry, Lydia."

"I can't help it and you know it."

Keith sighed sadly. "And I know. You can't help yourself and do anything."

"Hey, I'm in school now and have a life outside of this house. I'm working on the whole apartment thing for _us_, too, you know, before you try going back to the life of crime. I want to give everything a try before we decide anything. Keith, we've been together for four years and four break-ups. You can't say we haven't tried a lot of things."

"I know, Dear, but still…"

"Shh, hold on…I hear something," I said in almost a hush as Keith trailed his sentence, hearing some footsteps outside my door, walking back and forth in a huff. Covering the cell phone up, I walked out of the closet to my bedroom door and saw the hallway light on, telling me that my father was awake and possibly trying to get an idea of what I was going and if I was asleep or not…

I went into a corner of my bedroom, almost in my closet, and uncovered the phone. "Keith, I have to go. I think my father's awake, for some reason. It's not even four yet."

"Ok, I'll talk to you later."

And, with those words in my mind, Keith quickly hung up, leaving me vulnerable and in a spot where I can be questioned about. I mean, Dad could be up for several reasons, mostly to check on me. If he saw me in the corner of my bedroom, cell phone in hand, I'd have inquiries from him (as well as him going _through_ the phone) and a severe punishment that I don't think I could handle.

With that in mind, I quietly crawled back into my closet and pried open the floor board in the back right and deposited the incriminating object in there, attaching the charger to it and then to the only wall outlet in the closet, covering it all with my prom dress (stupid, yes, but I also needed it in the morning). Replacing the board, I then slid across the floor and climbed into bed. Cringing as the mattress creaked underneath my body (granted, I was not skinniest person on the planet and always thought myself overweight, emphasizing on my round, Polish face), I rolled over to my right side and pulled the summer blanket over me quickly. I faced the wall inches away from my face, waiting for my father to come in and do his almost-nightly duty…if that was what it was about.

I didn't have to wait long, thankfully. Dad opened the bedroom door only seconds after I had snuck into bed and turned on my overhead light rudely. Exclaiming at him falsely (and for sure putting up a good act, as I usually did), I turned around in an exaggerated outrage, but stopped when I saw my father's angry face. I knew, even when I was acting and being the Drama Queen, that I could not mess around when he was livid about something.

"I just received a call from your new friend, Gibbs," Dad sneered as he walked to me – his robe revealing nothing underneath but his boxers and unusually hairy chest and legs – and sat on my bed, forcing my wrists together in an imperious grip. "He wants you down at the Navy Yard tomorrow at eleven hundred."

"But to…call…at this…time?" I asked, closing my eyes and practically bowing as Dad's hold on my wrists made me lower my body in a submissive motion.

"That's not all," Dad continued, throwing me off balance with a throw that made me hit my wall (I dropped to my bed again, facedown). "There's been another Marine officer murder this evening before they left the bullpen. Name of the officer was Major Vincent Flanders. They found out that the two cases are connected quickly. Apparently, they found out that Flanders worked with Colonel Henderson on something the Pentagon gave them. Even _I_ knew that, long time ago."

"Oww…" I said as a sort of reply, groaning as I opened my eyes and saw my room spin.

"So, that means we'll be protected by N.C.I.S. if this keeps up." Dad got up and then grabbed my hair, dragging me to the bedroom floor and getting me to kneel again. Once I complied without a fight, Dad added, "So, behave yourself, Lyddy. Keep _out_ of my way and obey _everything_ I say to you. Don't argue with me and don't run off and lie to these fine people. I may not be able to be there, but I'll find ways to know what you said. So, you better _not_ do anything stupid tomorrow. What you said earlier to Special Agent Gibbs has merited you a lone trip into town."

"Yes, Sir." My body shook with fright, remembering distantly a time when I had done this before, but I pushed it away. I was not ready to look back yet.

"So, Lydia, walk down there and behave yourself. I'm going to take your car to visit Barbara."

I looked up bravely, seeing the kind face of Dad's girlfriend and then the pain she received from him _and_ her husband and daughter, and felt anger. "She doesn't deserve you," I spat out in a fury. "While Mom was barely in her grave, you cheated on her and –"

I received a slap in the face as a response. Then, I quickly ducked a second time when Dad swung again, rolling towards my bed, tempted to threaten him with the pistol Mom had left me, something I left under my pillows. However, I didn't think it the best time to pull a weapon on a military man with training meant to kill North Vietnamese snipers. So, instead, I stayed in a ball, just like a rollie-pollie insect, and remained still in a corner.

"Stay there, Lydia!" Dad screamed at me, this time not kicking me like he normally did. "Stay there and rot, for all I care! You don't _dare _disrespect me in that way _ever_ again, you hear me? Do you hear me, girl? Because, next time, you'll be a dead girl and in a coffin like your mother before your siblings could do anything for you."

Stomping away behind me (luckily for me), I turned to watch my father storm out of the room and slam my door shut, shaking everything and knocking over things off of my wall. The posters nearest to the door suffered the most, crashing down in their frames as their motions and words, immortalized by their road to fame, became covered on the hardwood floor.

Finally sighing in relief, I got up with trepidation (I felt weak at the knees, tiptoeing carefully) and picked up the two that fell to the floor. I was frustrated about them being ruined like that, but knowing that I could do nothing about it. The Beatles' _Abbey Road_ poster frame had finally cracked while Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" had remained intact with tiny cracks, but close to destruction once more.

_There's lady who's sure  
That all glitters is gold  
And she's buying a stairway to heaven_

Straightening them out carefully, I sighed again, thinking that, like the lady in the song, I would not achieve heaven because of material wealth, even though I knew it would be my ticket out of the house. But, of course, I could _never_ buy happiness (I had to earn it, it seemed), but the only way was to obey everything I had been told to do before carefully slipping out. Whether or not I would have help is another question for another night, something I could not think about after a beating like that.

I could think up any more comprehensible, reasonable thoughts. After the posters were back in place, I went to turn off the light and closed the door as the cat scooted in to hide with me. Finally, I crawled into bed, the cat cuddling against me on the pillow. I still could not think, could not move. I was too afraid to, in case Dad came back again.


	5. A Concerned Citizen

**I apologize for the delay in chapters, as always. I've had a busy year and it's been crazy, with little time to write. So, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I am working on it slowly, and will have another up soon. I promise!**

* * *

I breezed through security as I walked into the N.C.I.S. Headquarters (red in the face, flustered and tired from the two-hour walk). I tried to keep my body upright and relaxed as the security officers checked for weapons on me and in my almost empty backpack (searched by Dad before I left, so the water bottles and sunscreen were no longer there). Then, after they had found nothing of interest (an MP3 player, a schoolbook, a cell phone, some pennies and a driver's license wasn't interesting after all), I was told where to go and how to get there. To go up to see Gibbs and his team, I had to take the elevator or stairs into the bullpen, a floor below M.T.A.C., whatever that was and whatever it stood for (I don't exactly know everything). I assumed that it was something I couldn't be at, so heeded their warning about security guards up on that floor.

My legs felt like jell-o as I followed their instructions. Even with the A.C. on in the building and in full force, I could not cool down to the correct temperature. My body felt like it was on fire and cold as ice at the same time, stupid me walking in the heat like that because I was told to. I could have slapped myself for being so stupid and for not fighting, but I could not afford it, especially with the roof over my head and the car on the line (Dad close to throwing me out and taking my car to the junkyard, even though he did not own it). Besides which, I was out of money and could not take a bus or taxi. So, that left walking, just like Dad told me to do. If I had to meet up with Gibbs, then I had to. There had to be a way.

I did not feel like wobbling up the stairs, so took the elevator up to the bullpen, shaking the whole time. I held onto the cold back railing, dropping my backpack onto the elevator floor. I felt so weak that I couldn't hold it up anymore. It was so _heavy_.

Instead, I tried keeping my mind of Keith, who I tried calling twice this morning as I walked to the N.C.I.S. headquarters. I needed some reassurance, as if I was doing the right thing, as if I needed someone to help me get me to where I needed to go…but he wasn't picking up his cell phone and he wasn't home. Andrew picked up the apartment phone before he went back to sleep (his second shift job waiting for him in a few hours). He said that Keith had left early this morning, heading off to a long string of job interviews that will, hopefully, land him a job and a place of his own.

_Great…instead of Keith calling to tell me the good news, he runs off. He won't communicate with me, like he promised to do. He just does what he does and tells me later, as if being his girlfriend meant that he told me things last and put me behind everyone else. I mean, all I do is visit him and what happened is that I end up driving his friends around without compensation money or read a book while people and their children kidnap him. God, doesn't he understand how important he is to me? Does he realize how much I'm cheering for him, hoping he'd get a job before I do? I can't support the both of us. We need to support each _other_._

The elevator doors finally opened and I was cued to move. People wanted to get on and I needed to get out, to make room for them. And all I had to do was pick up my heavy backpack and walk out, normal as can be, and try to find Special Agent Gibbs in the bullpen…

"Hey, are you getting out of there or what?" a paper pusher of the place, for sure, yelled at me, irritated as I steadied myself against the railing.

"This is as far as this elevator will go, unless you want to go down," another said, as if I was stupid, slow even.

I shook my head, trying to clear up my head. Then, I pushed myself up and bent down to pick up my backpack, taking all of the hints to get off. I even walked out, normal as can be…

"Hey, wait, the girl's falling…!"

~00~

Grey figures with loudening voices came and went before me, as if I was having a dream, surreal as they were. Right in the center, as they went left and right, was a light, making me cover my face once or twice. After squinting my eyesight a few times in order to see everyone (that light still bothering me), I blinked. After a few unsuccessful tries at trying to understand where I was and what was going on, I finally made a breakthrough: light blue and white walls.

As I sat up slowly, dizzy as can be (and with a churning stomach, to boot), and looked around. I was lying in a chilly room on a cold, metal slab of some sort. Many other tables like it were lined up in a straight row, leading up a desk at one end (two people were there, talking) and a sink at another end. To my other side was a series of numbered drawers, as if everything had to be filed and stuffed away according to a numerical system. Even the walls to another side were decorated with unlit trays full of pictures, only to be shown when the switch was flipped.

I was confused. _What kind of place is this?_

"And, by chance, Jethro, Mother said…"

_Oh, Jesus Christ! I'm in Doctor Mallard's Autopsy Room. They put me in a room full of dead people! Oh, God, when Dad hears about this, I'll be just as dead as the rest of them…_

"Water," I croaked, too shocked to say anything, but groan.

Doctor Mallard and the other person – Gibbs – turned around and saw me sitting up, staring at them. As I saw from my position at the other end of the room, the former got up from his chair and retrieved a cup, filling it with water from the sink. The latter, who had been standing up to begin with, groaned just as I did, shook his head, and headed in my direction with Doctor Mallard, with little hurry to his step.

A cup of water was handed to me as soon as the two reached me. Gulping it down quickly (and realizing, for the first time, how parched my throat was) made Doctor Mallard chuckle. He admonished me in a grandfatherly manner, stating that I should drink slowly. Apparently, chugging even a cup of water fast, when you have heat exhaustion, could make you dizzier and upset your stomach more. It could actually make it worse.

"Would you like more, though?" he then asked me, his eyes kinder then Gibbs' at the moment.

"Please," I almost begged, as if water was a commodity that was highly prized and needed to be bribed for.

As Doctor Mallard turned to get more water from the sink, Gibbs turned to me. Staring at me with steely blue eyes, he took one good look at me and then slapped me in the back of my head.

"Oww," I said, rubbing the spot on my head where Gibbs hit me. "What was that for?"

As Doctor Mallard handed me my second cup of water and walked away to give us privacy (stating that he'll check in on me when Gibbs was done or if I needed anything), Gibbs answered me almost harshly. "A slap in the face is an insult. A slap in the back of your head is meant to get your attention."

Astonished by his change of attitude from the previous day before, I almost stuttered a reply, _itching_ to ask him why I needed to pay attention to something. Don't get me wrong. I didn't mind being hit in the back of my head because I knew that it wasn't a punishment. All I wanted was a reason _why_ other than what he said.

Gibbs only sighed and pointed first to my jeans, then to my obviously red skin. "If you're going to be walking from one place to another, you need to prepare yourself as much as you can. You weren't carrying water, sun lotion or even the proper _clothing_. Instead, security downstairs quotes you having inconsequential objects in your backpack."

"But, I tried and Dad took – no, he ordered –"

"And if you died, like you almost did, what would your father do? Do you think he would be able to handle another burial, even though it was through his own stupidity?"

"Wait…" I scratched my head, sipping water from my cup again. "I almost died?"

"If Ducky wasn't there –"

"Who's 'Ducky'?"

"Doctor Mallard…"

"Ok, ok, Gibbs, so is he wasn't there to rescue me, then I would have died."

Gibbs, stoic as ever, knew of my indifference at being fussed at (thankful as I was for someone being there when I needed it) and said nothing but, "You weren't breathing."

"Then, I would probably have been happy joining my mother," I retorted back.

"Then, my most cooperative person in this investigation wouldn't _be_ here," Gibbs yelled back.

"You can find Felix and talk with my father," I argued again. "Mara can be reached via phone and Jay is easily accessible if he is online on Skype. I'm nothing but _trouble_ in this crazy investigation."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Then, I realized that he didn't grasp any knowledge of technology.

"It's a program that is almost like a phone," I explained, ignoring him for the moment. "You can 'call' people and they can see you and you can see them. It's almost like a video, except it's a live feed. Otherwise, you can pay to 'call' people overseas or something."

"Regardless," Gibbs said, changing the topic and possibly ignoring me completely. "There remains the subject of Felix Henderson, the Colonel's nephew."

"But, I told you everything I knew," I protested, drowning in water as I drank the last of my water. My stomach twisted and turned in protect, but I ignored it.

"Yeah, that he smokes, drinks and was a homosexual that partied almost every weekend. You use him to your means. But, did you know this?"

Gibbs then pulled out some paperwork, shoving them in my hands. I wanted to scan them quickly, to pretend that they didn't exist, but it was hard not. The black and white words caught my attention and made me think, pushing back the misty memories of my dusty mind…

Every paper in my hands was a police report. And all of them evolved around Felix Henderson.

"Did you know about this one?" Gibbs asked me roughly, pulling out the first report. "Sexual assault of a minor, erased from his police record."

"Police record?" I mouthed silently, somehow not believing what I was hearing, but feeling not surprised at the same time.

"Or, what about this one?" Gibbs asked me as he pulled out another one. "Felix Henderson was accused of _raping_ a minor – a little _girl_ – when he was eighteen year old. He was also accused of sodomy. That was didn't even make it to court. He made bail and the evidence vanished."

"Why are you being such an asshole to me? I didn't know _any_ of this existed. Why are you _asking_ me this? Stop harassing me!"

Gibbs seemed to have calmed down and looked me in the eyes. "Good, you're telling the truth," was all he said.

"And this was a test, to see if I was trustworthy enough?" I yelled, throwing the paperwork in the air and ignoring the new mess on the floor. "I told you everything I knew last night, when you came over. Don't you think that's enough or do you need to hassle me some more?"

"We did a background check on Colonel Henderson's nephew for a reason," Gibbs reasoned, tough once more.

"Oh, really? Was the crime so sexual in nature that you _had_ to ask me about Felix's police record? Oh, and, by the way, I didn't even know this _existed_ until today. Did I mention that already?"

"For both cases, yes, Lydia. Both Colonel Henderson and Major Flanders had semen in the mouth, as if a male ejaculated into them postmortem. There is no matching D.N.A., which is why this is important. Do you understand?"

I covered my mouth, wanting to throw up. The thought that it happened to the dead, especially to Colonel Henderson, was sickening…

"Furthermore, we need as much information about Felix and his habits as possible," Gibbs continued, regardless of how I was feeling (although he brought over a small garbage can, just in case). "I called him to pick you up, by the way. Your father wasn't home and Keith isn't, either."

"You went through my phone and –" I started, gagging on my own vomit.

"Your calls are being monitored, on orders of my director," Gibbs said boldly…_neutrally_. "I would suggest, when Felix picks you up, that you mention nothing of the police reports. Be casual. Act normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened today. If he says anything, what his body expressions are…if you find anything unusual, please let me know."

"Are you asking me to be your little spy?" I asked, swallowing the bitter bile and the unwanted title.

"I'm asking you for some help, as a concerned citizen," Gibbs corrected.

"Anything else?" I asked, accepting my new responsibility immediately and putting my studies into action finally.

"Yeah" Gibbs replied as he turned to leave. "Get some rest and go see Ducky before you leave. You still look awful."


	6. Miss Expert

Towards evening, when the day had cooled down and there seemed to be some rain in sight (it was some wishful thinking, too), Felix picked me up. Sitting in his Mustang convertible in the N.C.I.S. parking lot behind the building with a security guard talking to him, Felix saw me and waved me over, frowning when he took a good look at me. He winced at the sunburns even, motioning that I just get into the car and get going.

"Thanks for staying with me, man," he said to the security guard before turning to me, who had entered his car via the passenger door as the guard left. "Jesus Christ, Lydia, you look _horrible_. What happened? Special Agent DiNozzo called me and said to come pick you up, mentioning that you couldn't possibly make it home yourself. Also mentioned that your father and boyfriend weren't home and I was the next best thing."

"Yeah, well…" I began, crossing my arms stubbornly as I dropped my backpack to the car floor, putting my foot on the strap, just in case it flew away (the contents safely inside). "It hasn't exactly been the best few days for everyone…"

"Yeah, you're telling me!" Felix said, tears coming down his face as he put sunglasses on his lightly freckled face. "My uncle is dead and I'm one of the last living males in my family, on both sides. Big pressure on me to reproduce a male, other than my cousin, Victor. I guess Uncle Jim didn't tell everybody the truth about me or was still in denial himself. Sometimes, he'd sigh or yell at me or other times…other times, he'd pay my shoulder, as if he understood…"

"I'm so sorry, Felix," I started as he started choking up, my hand lightly touching his shoulder as he started the car up and started to drive forward, the wind blowing my auburn hair.

"Don't be," he replied coldly, brushing my hand away. "I'm not so sorry that he's gone, really."

"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow, completely ignoring the security guards that allowed us out of the parking lot.

"I feel regret and lots of sadness, Lydia…"

"But, you can't feel totally indifferent to your uncle, Felix. The tears tell me a lot."

"What do you know about grief, huh? Are you here to be my counselor or something, Lydia? Because, if you are, Miss Expert, I don't need it. I don't need sympathy. I don't need anyone butting in, really…"

Suddenly, the tears were wiped away and the engine revved up as we turned uphill, Felix driving onto the highway ramp. The wind then broke into gusts, whipping my hair left and right before I tied it back. My eyesight not blocked anymore, I looked at Felix, trying to do what Gibbs asked me to do. After all, my school studies were in Criminal Science, so I tried using my book learning to my advantage and tried creating Felix's current state of mind.

I squinted my eyes again, trying to analyze his facial expressions, but the wind moved some of his features back by sheer force, so it was a bit impossible to determine everything. However, knowing that he was distraught, fearful even, I thought that perhaps (and most likely the case) he was truly sorrowed over Colonel Henderson's death. No, he was grief-stricken, _depressed_. This murder was bothering him a lot more than I was realizing.

At the same time, fear lined his always-worried face. Felix mentioned that, other than his cousin Victor, he was one the last males in the family that could legally hold the Henderson name. His older relatives were pressuring him and Victor to reproduce the next generation, males especially. Maybe Felix is fearful of the response he'd receive when everybody in his family finds out that he's gay? Or, maybe he feels fear at being a parent?

I leaned back in my seat, relaxing, tilting my face to the strong setting sun. _Maybe he's afraid because he committed the murder and might be caught?_

I banished the thought immediately and glanced back at Felix, scowling when he hit the usual D.C. traffic on the five o'clock hour, slowing his car down to a stop. Then, without the wind watering up his eyes, I could better look past that grief and fear. I could see what Felix what be feeling and thinking as he _honked_ his horn with the rest of the world. I just might…

"_Mom! Mom, I'm home! Where are you?"_

_I dropped my backpack in the hall doorway and ran upstairs, eager to tell my mother about my day. That was what she loved the most, when she wasn't in an alcoholic stupor: to hear about my day. Even if she was, she would forget everything else, but I would tell it to her anyway. At least I knew that I could tell her anything, knowing that she'll never tell Dad, even when she was drunk silly._

"_Mom! Mom…? Where are you?"_

_Dad was back at the base, drinking with the people he knew from Vietnam who were still kicking around and jumping from base to base. Mara wasn't home from Larry's yet and Jay was just ending his Marine basic training, only two days before he'd visit us. I knew that Mom and I were home alone. And she would like to listen to me about my day, another day at the college of my dreams, something she and I kept a secret from Dad._

"_Hey, MOM! I'm home from school. I know you're here. I can't wait to tell you what Professor MacNara said in class today. Remember him? I told you lots about him. He's such a swell guy, helps me with a lot. He said today, in one of our meetings, that he knew you, Colonel Henderson and Dad when he was at Kent State. I didn't even know that you went to school."_

_Schoolbooks found in my backpack were just dismissed as a passing interest, which Dad didn't care about, just as long as I wasn't "wasting money" on something as trivial as school. He figured that, with a job and a bank account he could control (he knew people who could tell him anything), some books wouldn't hurt me. Mom was persuasive that way, always having a sway over him, despite the cracks in their marriage, the separate bedrooms, the arguments…_

_The house was eerily quiet except for some muffled voices upstairs. As I ran upstairs, my footsteps making pounding noises with each passing _tap_, each one seeming to pound a headache in each step. From a distance, I heard Mom's stereo playing, telling me what the voices were. I smiled. I loved it when she played music. It usually meant that she wasn't drinking and in the mood for some dancing and talking for hours on her bed. Other than Felix, Keith, Andrew, Henrietta, Jay, Mara and Beth, I had no other friends. Mom was just as good as the rest of them._

Take me now, baby  
Here as I am  
Hold me close  
Try and understand  
Desire is hunger  
Is the fire I breathe  
Love is a banquet  
On which we feed

_I got to the top of the stairs, hooking a left to head to Mom's room. Hers was at the end, the very last door at a dead end, right next to Dad's. Music blared from in that direction. I only followed it, swaying my hips to the rhyme and reason we called harmony. Smiling, I reached her door, knowing that it was ok to enter without knocking._

"_Ready or not, here I come, Mom…"_

"Goddamn traffic," Felix muttered, slouching in his seat in defeat.

I glanced over at Felix again, thinking. _Exhausted_ was another word that seemed to illustrate him well, I thought. Grief, fear and exhaustion: what a combination! It described a man who just seemed frustrated with what just happened to his uncle, blaming himself for it, possibly. He had funeral arrangements to make for a murdered man, a body to bury with military honors and days of endless condolences and people saying how sorry they were for what happened to Colonel Henderson.

Then, something else passed his face, but I could not tell quite what it was yet. It seemed to be something between a twisted smile and a longing for something. His eyes even said the latter: something or _somebody _was missed sorely and Felix needed that. I didn't think it was something, but more of a male he met.

"So, when am I going to meet your boyfriend?" I blurted out, aware that we were still at a standstill and people could be listening to us.

Felix turned to me. "Huh? Lydia, _what_ are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend."

"Something tells me otherwise."

"Is it your gut telling you that?"

"If you want to say so, sure. Go ahead."

Finally, Felix sighed and straightened out his back. "Yeah, I do have a boyfriend, just like you. What about it? What are you going to do about it? Tell Captain Sullivan? Go right ahead. What's he going to do to me? Hit me? I think he saves that honor for you."

"Don't remind me," I grumbled, looking around the windshield, only to see traffic move slightly and the exit for my father's house just up ahead.

"Hey, hey, did I say you had to stay there tonight?" Felix asked as he saw me look at that exit, shaking his head and putting the car into the driving gear. "You could crash at my apartment tonight. The couch is still free and your spare clothes are still clean."

"Have any water or aloe vera?" I closed my eyes, remembering the nasty sunburns and wondering why I went into a convertible, asking for a windburn.

"Both," Felix replied, finally moving the car to the average speed limit and going into the left lane, passing the slower cars. This, again, gave me another chance to look into his mind, his thoughts…

Except I found none. Felix had hidden the rest of his weary thoughts and was more concentrated on driving than anything else. He had hidden his most obvious body expressions and kept them away from me as soon as he figured out what I was doing, knowing that I was studying him like a model in the classroom: something to be gawked at, mocked about.

After all, Felix did the same damned thing last year, when Mom died, when he couldn't understand what grief was. But now, he does.

I closed my eyes, making an attempt to enjoy the ride and wanting to yell something at Felix, but every possible word of friendly endearment I wanted to say to him died on my lips. For the moment, I didn't know what to say. I even forgot about the police reports that Gibbs had thrown at me, asking me if I knew something about them. Of course, I didn't. However, I knew there were periods of time where Felix would disappear and reappear, would come back with a mysterious bite make someplace obscene or obvious or even call Colonel Henderson, asking him for some money for some unknown reason. I knew that he had kept his partying habits as far away from his uncle as possible.

I knew a lot of things and I told everything to Gibbs. However, what he didn't know was how _badly_ Colonel Henderson wanted Felix to stop the partying and how much he disapproved of all of the playtime. He didn't know about how much Colonel Henderson _yelled_ at Felix about his schoolwork and how important it was, especially in the economy the world was in today. Gibbs couldn't possibly _understand_ the depth of Felix's soul, of his wanting to belong someplace and to be free to express himself the way he was meant to be.

_No, I don't think Gibbs would understand. He doesn't seem to understand a lot._

"Hey, do you wanna watch a movie tonight?" Felix asked in a yell, taking his right hand off of the steering wheel so that he could stroke my leg, petting it as if he were comforting me and not the other way around.

Well, it _would_ be kind of awkward if I did that.

"I guess," I answered, uncomfortable with the hand on my leg. I opened my eyes to try to determine why Felix would do something so unusual as that gesture, but could not get my eyes trained enough to look him in the face.

No. My eyes were paying more attention to the large bite mark on Felix's arm, visibly shown as it remained stretched out, his hand still resting on my leg, still stroking.


	7. Caught Red Handed

The next day, I decided to take a little trip of my own. Dropped off at Dad's in the morning by Felix (with sincere apologies again, even though the night before there had been enough), I waited until Dad took off to see Barbara. This time, though, he decided to take the bus, which usually stopped at the corner of our street, instead of taking my car without permission. So, it left me to my devices.

I needed to see Professor MacNara. He knew Colonel Henderson (and even my parents), from the days when one had been protesting the war as a college student and the other had been fighting it as a young man. He could help me with this investigation and to piece the puzzle together. The man was not only good at teaching, but also connecting those dots and helping investigators alike solve cases. He picked up on things that nobody else could and had a good eye for catching details that most people missed.

Despite feeling like crap still (Felix's apartment had central air, but the system wasn't working), I wobbled downstairs with my backpack and my keys. Locking the doors behind me (and making sure that the basement hatchway was opened, just in case I needed to sneak back in and hide), I walked to car and started it up. Blessed A.C. hit me in my back as I turned it in reverse and drove away, feeling the giddy freedom that came with escaping from the house, empty or not.

Meanwhile, across town at the university, summer classes were underway. Students streamed in and out of classrooms and the parking lots were full to the brim. Navigating through floor after floor at each parking garage, I sighed with impatience, trying to find a spot. I was quickly running out of time. Professor MacNara's office hours were almost over and I wouldn't be able to talk to him until next week. I knew that talking to him over the phone was out of the question (other than my calls being monitored, there were dangers in discussing a case over a line where you could easily be overheard). I had to talk to him face-to-face.

I was about to illegally parallel-park with some of the other guys when a space luckily opened up and I was able to safely plant my car someplace where it wouldn't be towed. Smiling, I locked the car door behind me and began my long trek to Professor MacNara's office.

However, I would have thought that my two-hour walk to the N.C.I.S. Headquarters would have taught me a lesson in bringing and _using _the appropriate gear when I was walking in the heat. I guess not, because I was barely sweating and shivering by the time I got to the Criminal Science building. Even the A.C. in the building wasn't really helping me anymore.

When I came upon Professor MacNara's office, two people came out of there that I thought that I would never see again, even during the investigation of the case. As soon as I saw them, though, I hid behind a pillar to eavesdrop on the conversation as the two sat on a bench outside of Professor MacNara's door, talking.

"Ziva, he might be hiding something –"

"No, McGee, he's running us around in squares –"

"It's circles, Ziva. It's 'running around in circles'."

"Still! He's not telling us the truth and I know it."

"How can you tell? He told us that he knew nothing about the murder except that he died and that, despite the difference of opinion he and Colonel Henderson had, they were the best of friends. He also knew nothing about Major Flanders and his murder."

"Exactly, McGee! He said that they had different political opinions. He also said that he personally thought that his nephew was worth looking into. Why would he say that? He pointed a toe at Felix Henderson. Usually, it distracts us from the person who _truly_ committed the murder."

I myself wanted to correct Ziva, but did not want to blow my cover. Besides which, I didn't want to casually walk into Professor MacNara's office just yet. The timing was not right.

"You think that spying on us would help you find the murderer or murderers or are you just having too much fun hiding behind things and mocking us?"

I turned around and gasped, caught at last. Behind me, holding a cup of coffee, was Special Agent Tony DiNozzo.

I kept my mouth shut, trying to keep my agape O-shaped lips from telling anything. The pull to talk was far too strong and I needed to keep my cool.

"You think that helping Ziva would also help us?" DiNozzo asked me.

I raised an eyebrow, finally letting temptation take over. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, at least you would feel better correcting her and making the world a more perfect place to live. Although, I must say, Ziva might never get the hang of American slogans and slang."

"Again, what does correcting her has to do with the murders of Colonel Henderson and Major Flanders?"

"Nothing…at least, not that I know of."

"Then, what are you doing here, Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"I could ask you the very same thing, Lydia Sullivan. And that's _Very_ Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, to you."

"Whatever. And as far as you know, I'm visiting my favorite professor. I wanted to talk to him."

"Professor Walter Quinn MacNara is also a renowned teacher of Criminal Science and an advisor on many cases. His knowledge of investigative skills is superior to most police officers and agents alike. Your major here at the college is Criminal Science and he is also your advisor. Any questions?"

"Ok, ok, you caught me red-handed." I gave up my cover quickly, without lying. "Professor MacNara is also a mentor to me. After everybody else left me, he remained at my side and even pulled me through another year of school so that I could graduate with a degree. I have another year and I could finally earn it, thanks to him."

"Am I hearing a sob story here or do I hear another damsel in distress?"

"I think this damsel in distress has already been rescued."

"No, no, I don't think so." Agent DiNozzo sipped his coffee, amused by my stubbornness. "I think she has lost a lot of people in her life and the people who stayed with her aren't putting in as much effort as they should."

"And how would you figure that out?"

"First off, the ring on your left middle finger tells me you're committed to a relationship, but you're not willing to become engaged or married. The boyfriend didn't give it to you, so it's a self-statement or something a relative or friend gave to you. Second off, any boyfriend who had the balls to stand up for her girlfriend when she's in trouble would have been here by now instead of very handsome, marvelous me."

I snorted. "What? Do you really think that I'm that naïve? Come on, _Very_ Special Agent DiNozzo, you can do better than that."

"Ok, then, Lydia, where's your Mom? I thought girls went to their mothers when their fathers are being jerks."

My face fell, knowing that Agent DiNozzo just hit the spot.

"What, Lydia? Can't take the truth right now?" Agent DiNozzo dared to laugh at his correct presumptions, sipping his coffee again. I didn't think he saw the sadness written on my face.

"I can, and I have, many times before," I replied, trying to recover from my shock.

"Really? Because, right about now, you're gonna be receiving a phone call from your boyfriend. And he's not gonna be one happy Flyboy."

"Can people stop _calling _him that? He wasn't a flier. He was a _bomb_ technician."

"Yeah, and he was in Afghanistan just after 9/11. Six months later, he's in Saudi Arabia, fighting against suicide bombers who happened to be _kids_ with bombs strapped to their backs, wanting to blow up the Air Force base. Did you know that? And, _boy_, do those guys over there get training! Did you know that, too?"

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few –" I began.

"Or the one," Agent DiNozzo finished. "Yeah, and I've seen 'The Wrath of Khan', too. Oh, and by the way, do you know what camel spiders are?"

I dropped my backpack off of my shoulders, smashing it to the floor in a rage as other students flew past me. "You leave Keith alone, do you hear me? He didn't have anything to do with these murders. He isn't that kind of man anymore. He's been out of the Air Force since 2003. It's only been three years, four of those happily in a relationship with me. I've seen him change. I've _been_ there when he needed it, nine _long_ years in the making. And let me tell you something, Agent DiNozzo. Men with cold, _cold_ eyes…they don't tell lies. Men who have gone to war like that don't tell lies about where they've been, what they've done and how they've done it. They just don't. You can even ask my father, the master manipulator."

"Yeah, well, men with P.T.S.D. also have violent tendencies," Agent DiNozzo countered.

"But, not ones that will sexually assault corpses afterward, unless they're really ill," I argued back, crossing my arms in obstinacy.

"Hey, Tony, how long have you been listening to us?" McGee asked from behind me, coming up with Ziva as they finished their conversation…without me knowing what they were talking about (which, I think, was Agent DiNozzo's point).

"For none of that time I was here, McLoser," Agent DiNozzo yelled over my head to McGee. "I was busy here talking with Miss Sullivan, who is now on her way to visit her advisor, Professor MacNara. Lydia?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was…sure," I added, picking up my backpack and walking past the two agents behind me, ignoring them all in the process. "I need to ask him about the autumn semester and what I need to take."

"How…?" McGee asked.

From the reflection in the window of Professor MacNara's office, I saw Agent DiNozzo pat McGee on the back, smiling as Ziva looked on. "Tim, Tim, Tim…you still have much to learn from the Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi. So, before Gibbs calls me –"

Behind me, as I opened the door, I heard a cell phone ring. Agent DiNozzo picked it up, automatically saying, "Yeah, Boss?"

* * *

**I am working on the next chapter and will post it ASAP (been slow with the baby). I did post chapter 6 previously, so be sure to read both. Thank you!**


	8. Information at a Price

"So, Lydia, tell me why you're here, other than escaping this hideous heat. Does this have anything to do with the N.C.I.S. agents that were just in here a few minutes ago?"

After trying to keep his composure after a surprise visit from N.C.I.S., the famous Professor MacNara of George Washington University took me into his inner sanctum (a small room in his office where he usually has meetings and private conversations with students) and poured me some cold tea, gently chiding me about walking around in this weather. Although wary of being babied, I took the stone cup and sipped. With the thick door closed and the windows shut and covered from the outside world, I felt safe and secure, more so than I had been in the past few days.

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to say that," I replied, taking another sip of tea. "I also wanted to say how sorry –"

Professor MacNara waved his hand, to interrupt me. "Don't give me any condolences, Lydia, for I do not need them. James Henderson was a military man worthy to be remembered for what he did and not how he passed on. We always toast their lives, so to say, and not mourn them and their unfortunate deaths."

_But, you can't help mourning those you miss the most, even after time has passed._

"Besides," he continued, taking a sip of tea himself, "there is much _we_ need to discuss other than your classes for the next semester. I was going to call you to ask what _you_ knew, but since you decided to come and visit me, we can talk about this now. I also have some information for you."

Lately, it seemed like everyone was giving me tidbits of information and then interrogating me for more constantly, so I almost decided not to answer. I wasn't some fish that was attracted to a hook on a line. I knew that everybody asked it for a reason. And it wasn't for gossip, either.

_Why don't you trust the one person who you tell anything to, other than Keith? Why do you hesitate to talk to the one person who has had your back for some time now?_

"Well," I started, "I know what happened to Colonel Henderson…"

"I know." Professor MacNara patted my hand, as if to comfort me.

"And Major Flanders was another victim in perhaps another string, as far as we know. N.C.I.S. linked the two cases together and I don't know why."

"I do, Lydia, through the careful prodding and cross examination of the N.C.I.S. agents that came by. It's not pretty, either."

"Tell me, please." I was adamant that I know everything I can about the two cases. I was anxious to help put the murderer (or murderers) behind bars.

"Well…"

"Professor, I _saw_ Colonel Henderson's body. We were the ones who reported it. It's hard _not _to be interested in this case. I have a _need_ to keep track with what's going on. Maybe I can catch something or we can work something out."

"Lydia, it's not that –"

"Then, what is it? Why are you unwilling to tell me about what you know about the cases?"

"It's one case now, my dear. And I'm more worried about how _you're_ doing. This is the second time you've walked in on a dead body. The first time, you came home from classes and went up to your mother's room, as per usual. Nobody was home. The music was blaring loudly. You thought that she was writing her book and listening to her music."

I winced at the memory. Professor MacNara's bluntness also hurt, but he was always like that. It got me out of my room after Mom died and pushed me through another year of school.

"Moreover, Lydia, you becoming involved in a murder case that is, as they call it, close to home, would probably have you look at things that you never could have imagined."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, my dear, as you know, when you work in this field, you find things out about people that you probably did not _want_ to know about. You look at the microclimates of people and see the best and worst of people and how they function. _Who_ they are, _what_ their mind's true motives are, _when _the actions took place, _where_ their mindsets are, _why_ they executed the actions when they did and _how_ it happened."

I was silent for a moment, thinking.

"Lydia," Professor MacNara said, practically begging, "_do not_ involve yourself in this case. I think you'll find out more about the people around you, things that you didn't need to know. That is what a true investigator does and you know it. This was initially why I tried persuading you not to take on these courses."

"Professor," I finally replied after he finished, "I understand this. I also know that, in majoring in Criminal Science, I see the best and worst side of people. But, I was also recruited to investigate this case, in a way."

I admitted nothing more, not even telling him what Gibbs had asked me to do the day before, when we were in Autopsy.

"If N.C.I.S. has been asking you as many questions and sharing the aspects of this case as they've done with me, then, please, tell me. I've already refused to help them after being questioned. Not only will I know one of the victims personally, but with my classes, I cannot take a leave of absence from the university right at this time."

"But, you will be there when I need help?"

"Yes, Lydia, you know that I will." Professor MacNara smiled.

I looked around the office's spare room – full of mementos from trips around the country, books on every subject possible and even a canary in the corner, tweeting – and tried to imagine holes in the walls, microphones hidden someplace even. I felt like I was being watched all the time, even though the only thing I knew N.C.I.S. was doing to me was monitoring my phone calls, as if they can track where I am and who I'm talking to.

_You're safe here. You're safe here…_

"Professor, I was asked by Special Agent Gibbs to watch Felix Henderson."

"James' nephew?" Professor MacNara raised an eyebrow himself. "Excuse me, Lydia. However, the Colonel's nephew might be a good suspect. He's worth looking into."

"How can you _say_ that?" I asked. "I've never known Felix to hurt anybody. I've known him for many years, Professor, and I've never heard of him doing anything to intentionally harm another human being, not even when he was angry." I didn't tell him about the police reports Gibbs showed me the day before, but I figured that he knew about those somehow. After all, the Professor was thorough in researching his subjects.

"I have." Professor MacNara was quiet. "Lydia, are you aware that Felix Henderson has had many run-ins with the law? Or, that he's been accused of raping young girls and boys?"

I didn't hear about Felix being accused of raping boys. I kept my surprise to myself.

"Furthermore, my dear, knowing what I already do, N.C.I.S. might like to keep an eye on him. Both Colonel Henderson and Major Flanders had semen in their mouths. Both had been shot in the head and chest and were hanging from a hook by their feet in their homes. D.N.A. says that the same person did the ghastly deed, but the D.N.A. doesn't match Felix's. At the same time, however, his footprints – bare feet, remember – were fresh at both scenes. What does this seem to tell us?"

"Well, the person who murdered these officers could be sexually frustrated," I suggested wildly, knitting my eyebrows as I remembered my dreaded "Intro to Psychology" classes. "The mouth of both victims could represent the 'hole' of a woman or the anus hole of both sexes. Instead, though, both mouths could be used for – oh, my God…it could be –"

"A homosexual or heterosexual man bent on revenge or subjected to sexual fantasies," Professor MacNara whispered. "Lydia, as far as I know, the unknown man whose prints and semen are in those crime scenes are not in any database and could not be identified. This means that…?"

"He's not committed in crimes until recently or he has been a criminal, albeit not caught," I replied. "Or, he could have wiped his records clean."

"What explains Felix's footprints on the crime scenes?"

"The first crime scene, Colonel Henderson's home, could be explained. Felix runs in and out of that apartment and could have been there recently, before the murder. The second, I cannot explain other than him being there when Major Flanders was murdered or maybe someone framed him and copied his footprint and planted it."

"Exactly," Professor MacNara said, taking another sip of tea. "Now, for the information I wish to impart with you. Colonel Henderson and Major Flanders were working on a Pentagon project in 1999, everything about it unknown. They remained on friendly terms until quite recently, as you know."

"And you know this _how_?" I asked.

"Personal research and personal connections," he replied. "Now, another project the two secretly were working on was something all agencies were looking into: Haitian children being used in the sex trade. These children were being taken from their homes from a rogue group within the Marine Corps or Navy. Nobody knows which one. Some civilians were involved with the trade, both in Haiti and in the States. Now, the premises of this trade seems to be giving money to the parents, promising them that their children would have a better life in America, and sending them through a series of channels before finding them the right 'parent'. All have been used as sexual toys, tortured as they grew older, and then killed off when they no longer satisfied the needs of their captors."

"That's just sick!" I exclaimed.

"Who said that it was not?" Professor MacNara put his cup down. "Lydia, our only evidence is a child – now an adult with children – that survived because of a sympathetic guard and came to light in 1996. She would not reveal who this person was, but only went through the appropriate authorities before it came to the attention of the various government agencies. Since then, with her descriptions of uniforms, people, routes and her own twisted memories and experiences, we've been desperately attempting to pinpoint where these people are located and how to stop them."

"Do you think that these murders have anything to do with stopping this sex trade, then?" It made sense, of course, but there was something underneath the surface that bothered me, and it had nothing to do with Felix, in a way. I was sure about it.

"Probably, but it's not been proven yet." A sigh escaped his lips. "I did tell the agents that and they'll run their records to receive more information. You, in the meantime, Lydia, need to get going soon, before they call you again. This is enough for you for one day. However, what I suggest you do, though, if you insist on following this case, is to keep your 'job' with Special Agent Gibbs. Do what he requests, but do it with caution."

"Yes, Sir." I finished my tea and picked up my backpack. "And thank you, Professor MacNara. I think N.C.I.S. might be ahead of me, but I might have something more."

"Just be careful, Lydia," the Professor said, sighing once more. "Be careful."

~00~

While I walked to my car in the lingering heat, I checked my phone, in case I missed some text messages and phone calls while talking with Professor MacNara. And indeed, I didn't pick up a couple of calls (there was a few voice mails, though) and received two text messages, one of them separated into two because of length.

The first text message was from my sister, Mara, which explained the two text messages from one sender. It only read, "Coming home tomorrow with Sammy. Benadryl my best friend for the baby now. Please come visit me. I have something to tell you."

I shook my head, knowing that my sister was hopeless in making a text message shorter. She spent more time typing out the message than figuring out how to send it. Mara seemed hopeless with technology sometimes.

She also seemed a little hopeless (and more and more in need of help) with Sammy. Trying to keep the baby from her ex boyfriend, Larry, she worked alone in raising him in her small, crappy apartment, collecting warfare and child support and trying to find a job without an education and a horrible economy. Sammy's three months old already and Larry hasn't seen him yet.

Next, I pressed the voice mail button on my phone, to see who called. The first message was from Dad, who said that he was home and that Felix called, asking that I "hang out" with him tonight and to stick around his place for the night before he went to work. He didn't sound pissed off, so I took it as a good thing (i.e. I wasn't going to get into an argument with him and get hit) and deleted the message.

The second message was from Gibbs. He just said he needed to talk to me and to call him tomorrow and hung up.

_Yep, that's Gibbs, all right. Short, sweet and to the point._

I finally checked the second message, knowing who it was and holding my breath, wishing it wasn't who I thought it was. Opening the inbox of my cell phone again, I saw that it was from Felix. His text message only said, "Meet me the 3 2nite 2100. Bring no1."

_Meet me at the Love tonight at nine o'clock. Bring no one._

The Okie Street nightclub was extremely loud and luxurious, with four floors of wicked music and equally devilish deeds. It was also usually open on Saturday nights, with "appointments" on the weekdays. The Love was always a place Felix also frequented when he was depressed and needing to forget something, always getting drunk and sometimes high on pot in the process.

I needed to be there to find out more.


	9. Sweet Dreams

_Sweet dreams are made of this_  
_Who am I to disagree?_  
_I travel the world_  
_And the seven seas_  
_Everybody's looking for something_

_Some of them want to use you_  
_Some of them want to get used by you_  
_Some of them want to abuse you_  
_Some of them want to be abused_

_Sweet dreams are made of this_  
_Who am I to disagree?_  
_I travel the world_  
_And the seven seas_  
_Everybody's looking for something_

_Hold your head up_  
_Keep your head up, movin' on_  
_Hold your head up, movin' on_  
_Keep your head up, movin' on_

_Sweet dreams are made of this_  
_Who am I to disagree?_  
_I travel the world_  
_And the seven seas_  
_Everybody's looking for something_

Felix had told the front door that I was arriving, music blaring that could be heard from blocks away. My car safely parked and my I.D. checked (they didn't even bother to check my purse or pockets, holding my pistol, some money, a cell phone and a hairbrush), my name was checked off and I was told to go to the third floor, where there were private lounges.

I assumed that Felix had booked a certain room, but I was not told why he asked me to come and the reason why he told me not to bring anyone. At any other given time (other than knowing that I worked Wednesday through Friday at the mall most weeks), if Felix asked me to come party at this club, he'd ask me to bring Keith. Even though we never went out together because of money problems, I found it interesting that I was asked to come alone.

Bumping into this person and that on an uncommonly busy Monday night, I made my way to the third floor of the club, looking for Felix as I checked out the first floor and the next. On the way up the stairs, though, I was stopped by a young Marine officer, a First Lieutenant insignia on the shoulders of his uniform. He grabbed me by my arm and pulled me back, almost throwing me down the stairs, his grip was that hard.

"Say, aren't you one of Captain Sullivan's daughters?"

"Let me go!" I yelled, loosening his hands from my arm and getting ready to sprint in case of danger. "What do you want from me?"

"Miss, aren't you Mara or Lydia Sullivan?" he asked me again, ignoring my question.

"That's none of your business. Why do you need to know?" The question was unsettling, disturbing even. Someone looking for me or Mara was a scary thought.

"I need to know which sister to warn what," he answered, grabbing my arm again, without a fight on my end. "I need to tell Mara Sullivan something and I need to tell Lydia Sullivan something. Now, are you going to tell me which Sullivan sister you are or are you not one of them?"

My heart raced. Mara and I were in danger, _if_ it was true, and this man held it all, about to tell me everything.

The officer was becoming impatient with me quickly. "Miss, please tell me –"

"Lieutenant, are you holding my V.I.P. prisoner?"

We both turned around, my arm still in a viselike grip, and saw Felix at the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, other club visitors milling around him. He then walked down the stairs to where we were and gripped the Marine officer's hand and threw it off of my arm.

Caressing my now bruised arm, Felix warned, "Bother her again, Lieutenant, and you'll pay for it. Understand?"

The Marine officer frowned, scowled. "Whatever." Then, he turned to me as Felix quickly took my unhurt arm and tried leading me upstairs with him, calling out, "Find me later, Miss Sullivan. I don't know which one you are, so find me. Please, for your own sake, talk to me. I have to tell you something. It's important!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…crazy Marine," Felix muttered, finally lowering his hand's grip to my hand instead of my arm. "They just don't know what hits them sometimes."

"Are you talking from experience or just from seeing too many of them?" I asked, almost tripping over stairs and people's feet.

"Both." Felix was quiet, his black hair covering his equally dark eyes. "Marines have just bothered me for as long as I can remember. Every one of them has criticized everything I've ever done. It's gotta be me being gay."

"What do you mean?"

"Excuse me, Sir, I have a lady here – oh, Lydia, I don't know. Uncle Jim and my father have always been critical of me, every time I turned around."

I was quiet. I never heard Felix talk about any of his parents before.

"My father was a Marine, like Uncle Jim, you know. Did you know that, Lydia? My Old Man was a Marine. And he was a nasty Gunny, but for less time than Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim said the Vietcong did something nasty to him. All he wanted to do was kill them, like they did to their older brother, Victor's father. Instead, he got caught by the gorillas, tortured and sent back to the family after the war. He went back to his unit in 1973, when we started getting our troops out of there. But, he was under some lucky stars and was ordered to stay put. He didn't come home until 1975, after Saigon fell. Took him a while to get out of there, too. There were North Vietnamese soldiers running everywhere, killing everyone. He was told to guard some helicopters as everyone was cleared out, watching soldiers and civilians get killed and getting told to put grenades down their chimneys, to kill the South Vietnamese off, to save them from the brutality. Last day of April, they finally were flown out. He wasn't the same again. Mom even had a hard time getting him back into it. She couldn't help him get back into a civilian mindset."

"I guess we have something in common now," I pointed out, now realizing that Felix really understood what I was going through.

"Yeah, fathers with P.T.S.D. who beat on their children!" Felix barked laughter: bittersweet. "Hell, and there's something else. When I was a kid, my parents would talk in their room, saying that I had an older brother someplace. I was maybe five or six and I didn't know better. Mom was crying about somebody named Tyler and my Old Man told her to shut up, that he was gone now, and Child Services were better off with him anyway."

I was amazed. "I didn't know you had an older brother. Did you ask the Colonel about it?"

Felix stopped, glared at me viciously, yelling, "You think I didn't? Uncle Jim said that I didn't know what I was talking about and to keep the past where it was."

"What does that mean?"

"That a bunch of pictures of an older kid holding me as a baby and paperwork saying one 'Tyler Auron Henderson' was born in 1969 mean nothing. Uncle Jim said it was Victor, but my cousin looked different than that kid. Besides, Victor didn't look like that when I was born. The hair color and eyes are different."

I whistled.

"Besides, Lydia, nobody in the family wants to talk about it. I've just about asked everyone in the family, but I got no answer. All I receive is denial. So, he must not exist and Victor and I are the last males of the Vietnam War generation with the Henderson name."

"Ever check Child Service records?"

"They're locked up. Uncle Jim must've done something because nobody wants to talk to me."

I pursed my lips, thinking, my heavy purse almost slipping down my arm. The pistol was holding it down.

"Well, who cares now?" Felix smiled. "Mom's been dead since I was ten, in a car accident, and my Old Man just died when I was fifteen. He went down to Haiti and never came back. Uncle Jim was with him, so I was staying with his girlfriend at the time, Jaclyn. He came back up and said that Dad was killed off by some of the local gangs down there and that I'm gonna live with him from now on."

Warning bells went off in my head. _Where have I heard Haiti mentioned before?_

"Come on, Lydia," my oldest friend said to me. "Henrietta and Beth have nothing on this person I'm about to introduce you to."

The name of my two (former?) friends – two people who dropped out of my life just after Mom died because they seemed too distant (as was I) – hit me like a ton of bricks. However, Felix was about to have me meet someone. Should I have been honored or is this something that I should dread?

_Was this the boyfriend he admitted to? Does he finally trust me enough to familiarize me with someone he loves?_

Felix finally pulled at my hand again, dragging me up the last stairs of the flight. "Come on, Lydia. You'll like him. I _adore_ him."

Other than thanking God that Felix wasn't as feminine as other gay men I knew (I was getting weird enough looks, some of them murderous, because some don't like homosexual men), I let Felix pull me up to the third floor. From there on out, there were balloons, streamers and glitter everywhere. People roamed in and out of rooms, a mix of all kinds of couples: men and women, men and men and women and women. And, of course, all the way around, there was ridicule and teasing from all kinds of couples.

It just made me miss Keith even more, wishing he was tagging along and I wasn't the third wheel.

Towards the end of the hallway before another turn, Felix opened a random door and let me in, closing it quickly behind me as people called out at him, "Queer! Fag!"

I barely saw anything in the room save for a shadow of a person in dim lights, large beanbag chairs and short tables with lava lamps on top of them. Blobs jumped up and down in the colorful light as thick clouds of illegal relaxation filled my nostrils. Whoever was in this room was smoking some powerful pot.

"Seth? Seth Love?" Felix called out. "I want you to meet someone special to me."

_Seth? Is this Felix's boyfriend?_

The person in the beanbag chair stood up and put his joint an ashtray as it made swirls of smoke. Standing up and coming forward where there were more lights, I saw a tall, muscular man with wavy, sandy blonde hair and dark eyes, just like Felix. Even retching of pot, he reached past me and hugged Felix, the two then deeply kissing in front of me.

_So, Seth if Felix's new love interest. And ok, this is a little awkward…_

The two broke from their kiss and looked to me, standing there like a clumsy oaf.

"So, this is Lydia Sullivan, the Captain's daughter?" Seth asked, as a way of introducing himself.

"As your service," I replied, not realizing that my sarcastic comment was a joke to him.

Seth just laughed, pushing Felix away lightly. "Oh, you're a feisty one, at that. And I bet you're good in bed!"

I blushed, ignoring the comment and not thinking of anything to say in reply.

"Now, now, Seth, this isn't the time to tease her," Felix said tenderly, rubbing Seth's shoulders from the back. "You can do that later. We, however, need to clean up our tracks before someone downstairs comes up here to get us arrested. Do you have anyplace that will hide that smoky device that you worship so much?"

"Yeah, but a cavity search will find it," Seth replied huskily, laughing again. "Unless Lydia wants to smoke the rest of it…?"

"No, thank you," I said quickly. I wasn't quite the party girl, but my days of smoking pot were not around anymore. Mom's death ended it.

Seth looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "It's whatever, Sweets. Just let me put that out and hide it temporarily. Then, I can run to the big men's room and put it in a better place."

Felix giggled, most likely inhaling the smoke (unlike me) and getting a slight high.

"Go ahead…" was all I said, watching Seth detach himself from Felix's thin hands and walk over to the ashtray, putting the joint out and hiding the heated object in his pants.

I cringed. _Ouch! That's gotta hurt…_

After a simple embrace and kiss as he came back around, Seth said to Felix, "I shall return. And I'll save some of that for us later, Felix."

Seth walked out the door, listening to the usual snide remarks about being gay behind him. I then heard his footsteps going down the hallway to the men's room around the corner, another door of many being opened and closed in this endless party of colors and music.

I smiled and shook my head, looking for Felix for some answers and for him to tell me more about his new boyfriend. He was about to say something, but the words never quite came out before life went into slow motion again, telling us that anything can happen at any time.

That was when gunfire erupted outside, shots coming through the door we were behind.


	10. The Rules

Screams were heard all the way around our ears as we ducked our heads and dove under the small tables we could hardly fit under. The lava lamps shook their lights around the room, but stayed put and ignored our shaking bodies.

"As if this will help us!" I yelled, knowing that a gunner can see and smell fear. And, for once in my life, I felt safer in my father's house than under a small table holding a lava lamp above my stupid head.

"It's better than nothing," Felix replied in a panic. "And shut the hell up! The shooter will hear us. Remember, we have holes in the door? He can hear us, dimwit."

"Geez, how could I forget?"

Hearing people outside moan as more shots were fired, screams and whisper pleas through nine-one-one calls, I thought of an idea that will help us in the long run. I took out my cell phone from my pocket and thought of a number that I remembered sat on Gibbs' desk as I walked out of the Navy Yard last time I was there. The number was on a business card that I knew was his.

Thanking God for my good memory, I pressed the buttons and listened to the phone ring. It ran several times, so I thought that I was going to hit the voice mail until I heard Gibbs' voice on the other end. I must have disturbed him from his sleep (without coffee, which I knew would be the death of me if I deprived any Marine of it) because he sounded irritated, groggy even.

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"Gibbs, this is Lydia –"

Gunfire was heard outside of the door, deep breaths huffing in and out, screams being cut off as shots rang out.

"Lydia, where are you?"

"Shh, Gibbs," I hissed. "I'm at the Love Club and there's a shooter and –"

"Get the hell out of there!"

"I can't. He's outside the door, in the hallway. Jesus, I don't even know if he's the only one."

"Are you armed?"

"Yes, but I'm not –"

"You do it to defend yourself and others. Don't hesitate again. I'll be there with backup as soon as I can."

And with that, Gibbs hung up.

"Now what, genius?" Felix asked me, his hands gripping the sides of the table. "What are you going to do now?"

"I'm not going to be some sissy and sit around, waiting for backup," I replied, getting up and bumping my head and knees against the table in the process. "Thanks to Mom, I have a license to kill with my weapon. I'm as close as you're gonna get to a cop."

"Are you serious? Lydia, are you _crazy_?"

"No." I got up, taking my pistol out of my purse, tossing the latter aside. "It's time to catch this bad guy."

I ran out the door, listening to Felix yell stupidly, "No, Lydia! Wait! Don't go!"

~00~

I took a deep breath, stalking up and down the third floor hallways, spiraling this way and that. My pistol up and ready to use, I constantly looked over my shoulder, always checking for a shooter. In the meantime, I checked out doorways and closets and even made sure that everybody was aware that help was on the way. Some pointed out dead bodies, others dizzily shook their heads for help or pathetically walked away, stunned.

I could do nothing but find that killer.

I kept a mental count of bodies in my head, dead or alive. I had seen two dead people in my life before, many violently mutilated ones in the hallways of the Love, but my blinders seemed to be on. My eyes were only for that man running around with a gun. And my mind in motion wasn't quite registering dead, shot-up bodies and wounded people just yet.

I heard a _crash_ behind me (where I had just checked) and turned around, my heart pounding my chest hard, my fingers just _itching_ to shoot somebody who killed innocents (stupid as some of them were). When I found the source of the noise, a mop and buckets were on the floor, toppling out of the closet behind me. I lowered my weapon for a moment, thinking that I was the idiot that misplaced objects and caused them to stumble.

Then, a shot flew right through my hair behind me, just missing my neck…barely.

"Drop your weapon!" I yelled, turning right around and holding my weapon up again. I felt I had no authority, but like I told Felix, I was the one with the degree and with the ability to shoot back. That was why I nominated myself for this challenge.

Another _crash_ behind me had me turning, frantically searching for the source of the menace. But, the hallways were becoming emptier except for the dead bodies here and there. Wounded people were walking out, contaminating crime scenes and calling for help still. I swear, as I sought for whoever was knocking over things, that there were at least twenty something calls to nine-one-one dispatchers since I left Felix.

And yet, the shooter was nowhere in sight except through deed. He had yet to show himself without shooting and running away from me.

Outside, lightning flashed. Thunder was hard in the distance a short time later. A few minutes later of searching later, the rain started coming down, down, down…

I whistled an old song with this in mind, something Mom and I sang along to a long time ago.

_Will you stand over me,  
Look my way, never love me?  
Rain keep falling  
Rain keeps falling  
Down, down, down, down, down…_

That, of course, was my stupid, fateful mistake.

Gunfire erupted behind me, causing me to duck and roll behind a trash barrel that had been knocked over, a dead body inside. Damning myself as I picked my head back up slightly to shoot, I saw a large man in black. I mean, he wore black _everything_. He even had a pitch-black ski mask over his head, so I could not describe him well. All facial features – anything recognizable – were covered.

This man saw me returning fire and aimed lower instead of over my head. After popping several holes into the plastic trash barrel and missing my knees and the body by millimeters, I reloaded (I forgot about the extras usually in my pocket) and shot again, trying to disable him temporarily, before Gibbs and his team came up here. And I needed them as soon as I could. I was quickly running out of ammo for my weapon, knowing that it was supposed to be used for a few shots, nothing more.

"Dammit, come on, give me a good angle," I muttered, knowing that seconds had passed as the two of us had gone back and forth firing our weapons. "Come on, come on, come on…"

"Federal agents! Drop your weapons!"

I thought I would _die_ hearing those words. I thought I would jump for _joy_ to hear Tim McGee come to everybody's rescue.

"Federal agents! Drop your weapons! I repeat, drop your weapons _now_!"

I dropped mine quickly, thinking that I was supposed to, as well. I ducked back behind the barrel, surrendering myself (and the body) to the authorities. It was probably safer that way.

However, I didn't think our black-clad intruder would want to do the safe. For a few minutes, he exchanged fire with McGee and another agent before another random shot stopped him before another situation got out of hand. When I looked up from my hiding spot, I saw that it was Gibbs who remained standing, his gun still pointed where the killer was standing. _Very_ Special Agent DiNozzo was standing next to McGee and Ziva David was coming up the back.

And there he was, the killer, dead on the floor. A red hole was in the middle of his forehead.

"Everything clear," Ziva confirmed.

"Ambulances outside, last I saw," McGee added. "Rain isn't making anything better."

"How many dead?" Gibbs asked, putting his weapon away. The others followed suit.

"So far, I saw four, included a Marine," Tony said. "We haven't been through this whole scene yet."

"What happened to the Marine?" I asked, coming out of my hiding spot, pointing out their fifth body before they saw it.

"What happened to _you_?" Tony asked.

"What do you mean?" I volleyed back, oblivious to what he was talking about. "I'm more concerned about the Marine officer. What happened to him?"

"I think what Tony means is that, why do you have soot on your face and blood on the front of your shirt?" McGee pointed out.

The soot I expected, from firing and rolling and ducking. But, when I looked down at my shirt, I noticed, for the first time, that I had been hit, albeit lightly. The real throbbing was on my neck, when that bullet went through my hair, I guessed. It might have hit the back of my neck briefly before the showdown began between me and that dead man on the floor. It might have been the bullet that graced my hair.

"You still didn't answer my question," I only replied as I looked up again, ignoring McGee and DiNozzo. "What happened to the Marine Lieutenant that was here?"

"Dead," Gibbs answered for everyone, rubbing his forehead, as if remembering something from a short time ago. "Strung up like the rest of them. Are you satisfied now?"

I nodded, knowing what happened to him. He was shot in the head and chest and hung up by his feet someplace. He also most likely had semen in his mouth.

"What was his name?" I asked. "He stopped me when I was looking for Felix. He kept saying that he had a message for me and Mara. He had separate messages for us and kept harassing me about it. Said it was important, he kept asking me which sister I was and –"

"How about, we get you out of here so that you can get some help?" Gibbs sighed, walking towards me. He was deliberately ignoring me and trying to divert me elsewhere.

"I don't need help," I replied, brushing him away as he tried steering me in the opposite direction away from the three other agents, ignoring his orders to his team to start processing scenes. Instead, though, I had Gibbs take me by the shoulders and glide me down the hallway, smooth as can be.

And I didn't even bother protesting…quite yet.

"Yes, you do. When becoming a forensics expert, a law enforcer or an agent, you learn to follow orders. This isn't a suggestion, Lydia. This is an order. I want you out by an ambulance and I want it done _now_."

Gibbs stopped (me along with him) and put his hands on my shoulders, staring at me. I mistakenly looked into his blue eyes and saw something I had never seen in this agent before: fear. He was frightened by and for everything in his life. He had seen a lot in his years and was accounting for everything he had ever done, without turning back.

Then, I heard Gibbs sigh, turning away from me momentarily, but I saw what he accidentally let loose in front of me. I saw what piece of himself Gibbs had left with me and it wasn't exactly something that everyone had in their lives. It came with the territory, of course, but it also came when something tragic happened in your life.

_Sorrow_…Gibbs was suffering grief.

"Lydia, please, come with me." Gibbs turned back to his normal self, tugging at me to get moving with him. "You need some help. Then, we can find your car and I'll follow you home."

"What? Are you crazy? I'll head home alone. I'll be fine." I was conceding to Gibbs and medical treatment, but I wasn't going to let him help me handle my personal problems when trouble came knocking on my door again.

"And let your father instigate another argument? I don't think so. He'll undo everything that's been done."

"What do you mean?" The question seemed popular this night. That must have been the second time I asked it.

Gibbs stopped us both again. "Did you notice the rashes on your arms or are you that dense?"

"No…"

He then felt my forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand, almost in a fatherly fashion, as if he had been a parent before. "Yeah, just as I thought. Keep running around and playing the keen investigator when you're supposed to be resting and you'll relapse again."

"What are you talking about, Gibbs?"

"After the adrenaline gets out of your system, you need to rest. Period. No compromises. You understand me?"

"Again, I'm confused."

I received a slap to the back of the head as a response, so this was something I needed to pay attention to.

"What was that for?" I asked, still confused and my head aching.

"Rule number eight," Gibbs replied. "Don't take anything for granted."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's exactly as I said it. Don't take anything for granted, even me. You need to think for yourself and get out of anything, especially if you're going to be an agent. You also need to take care of yourself and your family. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I have about fifty or more of those rules to teach you."

My heart seemed to have stopped and worked its way up to my throat. _ What is he talking about? Is he trying to be a mentor or something?_

"Is that a job offer?" I asked, afraid of what I was going to hear.

"When you graduate, it is," Gibbs affirmed, leading me towards the stairs to the public chaos. However, as we started inching slowly to the flashing lights of the media and the police and medical crews all out in the rain, he added, "There's another. Rule number nine: never go anywhere without a knife."

I felt honored to be taught by one of the best N.C.I.S. agents out there. At that moment, from then on out, I vowed to do the best I can be in my field of study, even if it meant staying out of this case and adding a knife to my fledging collection of weapons. From that moment onward, I knew that my life would change with this opportunity and more. The planets seemed aligned with this turn of events and my dreams seemed to be coming into reality now, all in thanks to my wonderful mother, who helped me get back into a direction I needed to be in after high school.

But, there was still treachery about. There was still a murderer out on the loose.


	11. Volunteered

It was dawn when I arrived back at my father's house, safe and away from the media. Thankfully not in the hospital overnight (I was about to sign off, saying that I didn't want medical attention, but was relieved to hear that I could go), I had Gibbs and Tony (he kept insisting that I call him that instead of _Very _Special Agent DiNozzo) follow me back home to Alexandria. Technically in Virginia, just over the Woodrow Wilson Memorial Bridge and into the suburbs, I didn't try to lose Gibbs and Tony.

Being threatened to be tracked down by someone I was told was a sniper wasn't encouraging. There were tracking skills involved with those and I had to give up trying to hide. I just didn't like them being in my business, though.

I didn't seem surprised that Dad was outside, waiting for me, thinking about beating me, most likely. He had a cell phone in his hands, talking to someone. He was asking for help, I could tell, and only had to see me to hang up.

"I'll talk to you later, Corporal," I heard him as I pulled in. "Tell them to call off the search. My daughter's here."

Mara popped her head out, too (back from her trip early), a baby monitor hanging from her jean belt. Before Dad could yell at me, she _banged_ the door open and ran past him and ripped open my car door before I could turn my engine off.

"Oh, Lyddy, we feared the worst!" she cried, dragging me up as soon as I turned the car off. "We heard about the shootings at the Love and thought that you were –"

"As you can see, Captain, your daughter is fine." Gibbs (with Tony behind him) had come up from behind me after their car was safely parked, my father glaring at him with disdain as he stood behind Mara. "She was doing her job."

"And what might that be?" Dad yelled, not caring about waking up Sammy or the neighbors. "Lydia works at the Georgetown Park. Her _job_ is working at a retail store, folding clothes and ringing up purchases. I _got_ her that job a couple of years ago, so that she didn't have to look for anything. I _helped_ her set up a bank account and _taught_ her that she shouldn't be wasting her money. No, Gibbs, Lydia's job is to _earn_ her living."

I exchanged looks between Dad and Gibbs, not knowing what to say.

"Either way," Gibbs replied, disregarding my father's comments, "Captain Sullivan, you've now become the last surviving member of the group of Marines that originally went to Haiti in 1996 to investigate the child sex trade."

"Wh-what?" Dad sounded like he couldn't quite get any words to come out of his mouth, he was that shocked. Mara and I just exchanged confused looks.

"Captain Richard Henderson was killed in 1996, as you know. Colonel James Henderson, Major Vincent Flanders and Lieutenant Kyle Tellington have all been murdered by the same people recently. Captain, you're going to have to come with us for protective services. We believe that this murderer is targeting those who went to Haiti, amongst others."

Mara spoke up. "Agent Gibbs, what about –?"

Gibbs turned to her. "Mara, you and your son are going to have to come with us, as well."

"Are you telling me that I have to pack my bags, take my son away from everything he's ever known, and go into protective services for N.C.I.S.? And all because my father was involved in some investigation for a 'child sex trade' in Haiti?"

"Mara…" I began.

"No, Lyddy," Mara interrupted. "Look, I've been fed up with this military stuff for a while now. It's gotten too dangerous. It's cost four Marines' lives, plus more, and almost yours. I have a son now. And I've found out too much information to last me a lifetime, things that I thought I could never imagine. I don't want to be a 'military family' anymore. I just want to be me, Mara Sullivan."

Tony snickered, about to say something. Gibbs, on the other hand, just glared in his direction and the _Very_ Special Agent shut up.

"Mara," Dad tried manipulatively, petting her hair, "you need to follow what these Special Agents say. Now, why don't you go inside and pack everything up? I'm sure that you can wake Sammy up and get his portable crib ready and put in the car. I don't think he'll notice a thing."

"Don't touch me!" Mara screeched, pushing Dad away and storming into the house.

I was at a loss for words. I didn't know what to do, whether it be comforting my sister or helping her pack everything or what. If I punched Dad (like I've been _itching_ to do for years), then there'd be a fight that Gibbs and Tony would have to break up (if Metro wasn't going to stop by for the domestic disturbance call). If I went inside with Mara, Dad will be on me like flies on shit and I would have to surrender to him.

An idea went through my head, but I ignored it. I didn't want to bring up the past.

Tony cleared his throat. "Captain, would you mind telling us about Haiti?"

"Not here," Dad replied quickly, looking left and right and jumping a mile up when he heard a truck make a load noise down the road.

"Dad, it's just a truck," I finally blurted out, seeing my father visibly shake for the first time ever. Even his eyes looked wild, frantic, as if he was searching for something, a way out…

"No, it's not, Lyddy, they're com–"

"Captain, are you all right?" Gibbs asked him worriedly.

Dad crumpled to the ground on his knees, his knuckles in his eyes. Then, his hands posing as if they had a radio in his hands, he kept repeating over and over again, "Vietcong, I repeat, we have Vietcong coming this way. Do your read me? Dammit, are you listening? We have Vietcong overrunning our base –"

"Dad?" I went over to try to shake him, but Gibbs stopped me immediately.

"Boss, need me to call a V.A.?" Tony asked.

Gibbs waved his hand, as if to tell everyone to hold up a minute, and went over to Dad, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Marine, stand your ground. Stand –"

"They're surrounding the base. We're going to be overrun by the Gooks –"

I put my hands over my ears and closed my eyes, not believing I was seeing and hearing. My father, having a posttraumatic episode? I've never seen it before. He usually held his cool, using his training for his own purposes. He held this country's enemies as dead men. He always said that. Hell, he even said that if I was working against this country, he'd kill the same way he would if I was disobeying him. It was all one and the same to him.

But, to witness him go back in time, to a place where the best thing that could kill you was a poisonous snake, was disturbing. And it all started when a truck bounced on the road, making a blast akin to an explosion.

It almost reminded me of Mom when she heard certain songs from the time she was my age. All she would say was that it reminded her of gunfire and she turned the music off, staring blankly out into space without moving.

Gibbs couldn't calm him down after a few minutes of trying to talk Dad out of his nightmare. It was beyond his reach.

"Call the bus, DiNozzo," he finally said, walking back to his car and starting it up. "Get him on it and escort the children to the Navy Yard. Director's orders."

_Children? Director's orders?_

"Yeah, on it, Boss," Tony replied, dialing his phone and ignoring the writhing form of Captain Gregory Sullivan, a veteran of the Vietnam War and Desert Storm.

~00~

With our things packed, Mara stuck Sammy and herself in the back seats of my car, the baby in his car seat sleeping. While I reversed the car and then drove back to D.C., Tony took the passenger seat, poking and prodding at me until I was blue in the face yelling at him to stop. He almost acted like Jay in that way: the brotherly teasing that Mara and I always countered.

Except, I wasn't in the mood for anybody bothering me. I had other things on my mind other than Keith, my crappy car and babysitting duties (Sammy). So, I turned the radio on, aimlessly listening to anything that would offer me comfort, but found nothing of interest. So, I left it on a news station, not paying attention of the Iraqi War news. Jay and his escapades in the Marines were far from my thoughts.

Tony saw it as soon as we hit traffic on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, turning off the news as Mara snored lightly behind me. "You wanna talk about it?" he only asked me.

I sighed. "No, Tony. I'm fine."

"You know, in the Mel Gibson movie, _Lethal Weapon 4_ –"

"I know what F.I.N.E. stands for, Tony. I've seen all the movies."

"Anyhow…you know, it's sometimes a bit disturbing to see the flaws in your parents. You think they're invincible, but they're not. There's always a chink in their armor."

"I never thought of my father as a 'knight in shiny armor'. I always thought of him of an abusive, demanding _drunk_ who pushed his kids around and controlled them. Oh, did I mention that he drove my mother to her death?"

"You know, I was wondering where she was."

"Been gone for a year now, Tony, and I wish to see her everyday."

"I miss mine, too. My father sent me away after she died. Been to a bunch of boarding schools."

If I didn't have a good footing on the brake pedal as we slowed towards the block of traffic, I would have let it go and let the car hit the one in front of us. I was shocked, hiding it as I stopped the car behind the ridiculous wall of metal in front of us. Tony opening up to me like that was surprising. It almost made me feel sorry for the man, in a way. He understood something much better than I did.

"Mine just told me to stop hiding in my room after Mom died," I said carefully, trying not to trend into dangerous waters. "I was the one who found her, after school."

"_Mom! Mom! Wake up! Where are your clothes? No, please, wake up. Mom? Mom! Oh, God, Mom, you can't be dead. Don't be dead, please…"_

"That must be tough," Tony replied sympathetically.

"You don't know the half of it."

"I know some of what it feels."

I ignored his last comment, asking instead, "So, can you tell me about the Marine officer that was murdered last night? Now, what was his name again?"

"Lieutenant Kyle Tellington," Tony answered. "Now, I don't know what I can tell you. I don't know if you'll change the subject on me purposely again and –"

"Ok, ok, Tony, if I promise not to change the subject on you again, do you promise to tell me all you know about the Lieutenant?"

"Maybe, if you can tell me how you got such _beautiful_ auburn hair…"

"Tony! Do you want to deal with a jealous ex Air Force bomb tech?"

"Was it dyed? Ooo, do I see some grey hairs in there?"

"Tony! I'm serious!"

"Well, my questions are legitimate." Tony frowned, almost pouting. "If you answer my questions, I can answer yours."

I sighed with frustration, knowing that we weren't moving soon and that I was kinda cornered. "Ok, ok. My hair is its natural color. It wasn't dyed or anything. My mother had auburn, almost red hair. There, satisfied?"

He thought for a moment, but I knew he wasn't done yet. "So, how does your sister end up with jet-black hair with the shine?"

"Tony! You promised to answer my question. I answered yours. A deal's a deal."

Really, now? We made a deal?"

I screamed in aggravation, punching my car horn with all of my strength. But, instead of getting the satisfaction I wanted, I ended up with cars blowing theirs at me.

"Ok, ok, Lyddy…can I call you Lyddy?" Tony looked apologetic, but I knew better. In the few days that I knew him, I noticed how much he loved to aggravate and pull somebody's leg. This time was no different, it seemed.

"Tony, you have two seconds to tell me about Lieutenant Kyle Tellington or else I'm gonna have to give Gibbs a good reason why I threw you out of the car in the middle of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge traffic. And he's going to be blaming you for losing us. You understand? Are we crystal clear now?"

It took those two seconds for Tony to sober up and realize how serious I was. "Yeah, yeah, we are. Now, about Lieutenant Tellington, before you throw me out of your car. We found him on the second floor, near the men's bathroom. He was the only casualty on that floor. All the others were on the third floor. Well, there were wounded people from the second floor up, but there were seven people we found dead at the Love, one of them in the barrel you were just hiding behind."

I pressed the unlock button on my car, readying my foot to kick Tony out.

"Ok, ok, Lydia. I get it. Now, Tellington's hand looked poised to open the door, as if to hide, but he missed, and his hand remained like that postmortem. He was like the others, shot in the head and chest several times and hung by on the ceiling by his feet. There was something different about this scene, though."

"What?" I started tapping the steering wheel with my hands like a drum.

"It looks like, before he died, he wrote in his own blood on the wall. His right pointing finger was covered in his own blood."

"Well, what did he supposedly write?"

"There isn't quite a message. It just looks like an O or a C or something."

My hands froze on the steering wheel. "You think he was trying to leave the name of the shooter or something?"

"My gut is telling me that."

"Uh-huh." I shook my head, scattering the shock that locked itself in my head, laughing. "Tony, do you realize that you've indulged the specifics of a case to a civilian? What do you think Gibbs is going to do when he finds out?"

"You mean, when Madame Director finds out what I've done," Tony replied.

"Madame Director?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we're not supposed to be calling her that, but she's cool. She's cool with it."

"Uh-huh." I didn't believe him. "So, Gibbs doesn't care, but your 'Madame Director' would. Why? I'm not really helping with this case."

"No, but you've been volunteered," Tony corrected me. "Gibbs picks and chooses who he wants to put on his team. And seeing the way he seeks you out and has you do things, well…you're looking like our new Probie."

"I didn't 'volunteer' for anything, though, Tony," I only said, still not accepting what Gibbs told me the night before.

"You don't 'volunteer' for anything, Lydia," Tony amended. "Gibbs finds a way to get you to do what he wants. It's all for the better. Trust me. You'll be fine. You'll do well."

"I only wish I could live up to his expectations, then," I replied quietly, putting the car into motion once more as traffic finally moved forward.

* * *

**If I don't post anytime soon, I just want to wish everyone a Happy Easter/Passover/Ostara/Holiday! Have a good weekend!**


	12. Secrecy

While Mara and Sammy were spending their time in Jenny Shepard's office upstairs ("Madame Director" to Tony), I was allowed to freely roam around where I pleased. After a late breakfast in the lounge, I walked back to the bullpen, watching each agent pick up and dial their phones, type rapidly on their computers, report back to their superiors and even tease each other. It was a beehive of several teams competing for the floor, it seemed: yelling, whistling and gossiping.

Gibbs was nowhere in sight, but I figured that he was in Autopsy with Ducky and Palmer (I saw him get on the elevator as Tony and I were waiting in line to get on). Ziva was tracking phone records (McGee had to go down to some lab downstairs) and Tony was being a huge tease as he went through the security tapes on his computer, occasionally flirting with Ziva.

It seemed awkward that I was standing there, having nothing to do.

I walked over to Tony, playing a game instead of reviewing the Love's security tapes (or flirting with Ziva). As he tried bashing Osama Bin Laden's head (a là Whack a Mole), I crept behind his desk, peering over to watch him become distracted over a silly game. Suddenly, though, his sixth senses perked up and he kept turning his head this way and that, thinking that, perhaps, Gibbs was right behind him. Instead, he found me.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he asked me, breathing normally as he saw me instead of his team leader.

"Will you stop thinking that I'm Gibbs, creeping up behind you?" I answered.

"Tony, I think you have another freak behind you," Ziva said as she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms and ignoring, for the moment, the phone records on the computer screen in front of her.

"That's 'sneak', Ziva," Tony corrected.

"And, I'm not a sneak," I added.

"Yes, you are," the _Very_ Special Agent replied when he turned from Ziva to me.

"Am not, and you have no proof."

"The evidence seems to be right around –"

"DiNozzo, don't you have anything better to do?" Gibbs came into the bullpen, holding his usual cup of coffee and taking a gulp. "What do you have for me?"

"We seem to have a couple of masked men, Boss," Tony replied, quickly exiting out of the Bin Laden game and getting back to the tapes. "One came out of the men's room on the third floor and our Haitian dude came out from the second floor corridor and made his way up. The first guy harassed everyone on the third and top floor and the Haitian got to the second and onto the third floors before getting into a gun fight with Lydia here – who was whistling something nice before the guy came up behind her – and us coming in to save her."

_I didn't know that I came up on the security tapes! How stupid can I be?_

"Ziva, what do you have?" Gibbs almost barked as he sat down at his desk.

"Other than nine-one-one calls and the usual calls from person to person, I see nothing from the shooters' phones to anywhere else, _but_ each other from the day the phones were bought to the night of the shooting." Ziva sounded so sure of herself, but Gibbs had another task up his sleeve.

"Did you check every phone records and track down everyone that was called?"

"No, but the shooters _did_ call each other about fifteen minutes before they started. Both were numbers from disposable prepaid cell phones. Both were dropped in the trash."

Gibbs glared at her. "Well, what are you waiting for? Check out those phone calls. Take DiNozzo with you."

"Boss," Tony began to whine, "do you know how many phone calls that is?"

"If there were about fifty people in there, a small group for a Monday night, then it isn't quite a lot," Ziva reassured him.

"Then, get on it!" Gibbs said. As soon as he looked up from his computer, both Tony and Ziva had grabbed their gear and were on the elevator, phone records printed out and in Ziva's hands.

I watched the scene with interest, but was more surprised with Gibbs' question at me. "And what are you doing, Lydia?"

"I thought that I was in protective custody with you," I replied, kinda bored with running around N.C.I.S. Headquarters and not wanting to deal with a hysteric Mara and a screaming Sammy.

"You are, but you have things to do," Gibbs corrected me. "Lab. _Now_."

I backed up without looking over my shoulders, heading to the elevator. "Which floor?" I asked, knowing that Gibbs' orders are going to be followed and results will be forthwith.

"The one above Autopsy," he only said, going back to his own work.

~00~

Loud metal music vibrated in the elevators as I rode down. As the silver doors opened and I walked closer to what was the lab, it grew louder. As soon as I strode in, the music pushed me back, making my ears ring. My head even shook with the shove.

"How can you hear with all this racket in here?" I yelled, hoping that someone would hear me. I saw two backs. I figured one was McGee (the suit gave him away) and the other, in a white lab coat and black pants and with equally dark hair in pigtails, was the person that Gibbs probably wanted me to work with.

McGee turned around. "You'll get used to it," he yelled back.

"What?" the lab rat added, also swiveling her body around to face me.

I looked at the lab's resident, a ying-yang of some sort. Black clothing, silver jewelry and tattoos characterized her while the white coat gave her a lighter side, as if her Goth sense was an evil side that nobody wanted to see. Instead, of course, I knew that this person was good to the core.

I also just wanted to hug her to _bits_. She was _that_ kind of lovable person.

"Can we please turn this down, at least?" I asked.

Instantly, my request was granted. The lab rat turned around to the computer and typed a few keys, the volume down finally to background noise. Although not metal music was never the same heard softly, it was a relief to be free of ringing ears.

"There, is that better?" she inquired, smiling.

"As taken away as I am about the music, yes, that is better," I answered.

"Umm, you two haven't been introduced," McGee butted in. "Lydia Sullivan, this is Abby Sciuto, our forensics expert."

"Oh, you're gonna be –" Abby started, jumping up and down in excitement about something.

McGee elbowed her, stopping her jumping before it got too out of hand. "Not now, Abby," he interrupted. "We need to find out more information first. The case, remember?"

"About what? What information?" I stepped forward, curious.

McGee turned around, typing fast and showing me pictures of abused children, wooden cages and uniformed men and civilians. "This is what we have on the Haitian group, called the Black Crusade. We don't have a lot more, but some of what the investigations reported was that the group was a typical sex trade run by both Haitian and U.S. citizens and military personnel from the Marines and Navy."

"Right," Abby added, also turning around and typing and revealing more about the case to me. "Children between the ages of two to four are kidnapped from their homes or their passage out of Haiti was insured by their parents, who pay to have them educated in America. Which, of course, is kinda like sending them away to boarding school, except it's not boarding school, it's something totally different."

Abby took a sip of her _Caf-Pow!, _stopping on a picture of a dead child, while McGee continued, stopping at a login page. "From what Colonel Henderson put on the initial report, the sex trade stretched all across the U.S. and had at least three 'sorting houses', where the kids are tagged and numbered and their new 'parents' come by to inspect. We don't know the numbers of children sold or the people who picked them up, but we know that _millions_ were spent and the secure organization was successful, to a point. Bank accounts stretch from England to China, all under the name of 'Randall Stephens' of Buxton, Maine. There is a valid social security number, birth certificate, everything. But, we don't have access to anything of his."

"Kinda reminds me of _Shawshank Redemption_," I commented, stepping closer to the picture of the dead child.

"Yeah, well, we also can't get into the files pertaining to this particular case," Abby said, getting a red ACCESS DENIED on the computer screen as she tried to get in the Pentagon's Black Crusade files, the same page McGee stopped at. "We need a password and we don't have one. The Pentagon is guarding this one good."

"Well, my father was part of this group," I casually let out. "So, I can see what I can do. I'm pretty sure he had a hand in protecting this."

"Why, though?" McGee asked. "Why the secrecy?"

Both he and Abby swiveled and looked at me as I shrugged my shoulders. "What do I know?" I asked in defeat. "All I know was that I was thirteen when he disappeared with some buddies of his and my mother had to hold everything up for a few months. However, I know that, when he came back, Colonel Henderson's brother was dead."

That information I gathered from Felix and Gibbs, but I wasn't going to say anything else. Why mention how much worse Dad was when he came back from that "mysterious trip"?

"Think you can get it?" McGee requested. "All we need is a screen name and password."

Pretty confident that the V.A. would allow me to visit Dad (because I was a blood relative), I replied, "Sure. I'm sure that I can get something from him. Give me the file name and I'll go from there."

~00~

It was later that evening when I was finally allowed to go to the V.A. hospital in D.C. With Mara and Sammy safely out of the way of the investigation (the Director herself volunteered her home for them, enchanted with the baby, with two agents apiece), I would sneak around as I pleased.

Well, almost. I had Gibbs behind me the whole time. And I was stuck with him for the night.

The nurses let me into Dad's room, despite it being after visiting hours. An explanation from the N.C.I.S. Director (a call that was needed to get in with ease) allowed me access to something that was vital to the case (Gibbs behind me the whole time, demanding results with his eyes, as always). It might also give me answers to the dying questions that I had for ten years now.

I was told by the nurse on duty to be brief because Dad wasn't lucid, thinking he was in this time and that and babbling about secrets, personal and professional. He didn't know that it was 2006 and that his wife of many years had died the year before and that he had three children and a grandson. Sometimes, he thought that he was in Desert Storm or Vietnam and once, basic training. Other times, he thought that he was out of the country, on some mission assigned to him.

"Give it a try," Gibbs suggested as the nurse left, doubt visible on my face. "You might get something out of him."

"I don't know." I took a pen and some paper out of my pockets. "He's jumping in memories."

"Some do, some don't," Gibbs replied, shrugging his shoulders. "It was your idea. Your lead. It's also partially your case. You go through with it."

"Is that another rule?"

"Rule thirty-eight."

I sighed. "Not gonna give up on me, are you?"

Receiving no answer, I turned around, watching Dad twitch his mouth and mumble about something, drool running down the end of his mouth. Walking over to the chair next to his bed, I sat down, thinking about what to say. I didn't know what type of questions to ask him and in what form. I mean, I can't outright ask my father for the screen name and password to the Pentagon files on the Black Crusade. He would have laughed in my face and sneered, walking away and wondering how much information I truly knew.

I was his enemy. He wasn't going to tell me anything.

Looking to Gibbs for help (I found none) and then back to Dad's sleeping form, I sighed again. "Dad…umm, Captain Sullivan, do you hear me?"

"I hear you loud and clear, solider," Dad replied softly, albeit clearly. "Copy that. What do you need?"

I whistled lowly, racking through my brain fast before answering carefully enough. "Sir, we need permission to go into the file, Black Crusade slash Hotel Foxtrot Sierra Hotel Tango. Pentagon says it's urgent. We have a lead on the case and it's a matter of life and death. However, Sir, we can't get in. Colonel Henderson, Major Flanders and Lieutenant Tellington are missing."

I sucked in my breath, hoping that we'd get something, but not holding out any hope. Gibbs looked at me, wondering the same thing. I didn't quite gather my information legally, but I also learned from the best around about manipulation and sneaking around.

The sad thing is, though, the man who did was laying in that bed, unconscious to reality.

After ten minutes of nothing but listening to the crickets outside, I got up, knowing that I failed. Gibbs was about to leave with me, but as soon as we were at the doorway, Dad spoke.

"Sullivan, Alpha Lima India Sierra Oscar November slash Juliet Mike Lima."

I wrote it down quickly, smiling. "Thank you, Sir," I only said quietly. "We'll update you soon."

Gibbs and I then walked out and headed towards his car in the parking lot. We both said no words, but I knew that he was happy and thankful about the information we fished out because it was a step closer to finding out more on the operation he was involved in. In the meantime, I just couldn't believe that I just wrote down top-secret information and was giving it to N.C.I.S. by morning. I was stunned.

"Where are we going now?" I asked, tired of the silence between us and tired, wanting to crawl into a bed soon.

"Home," Gibbs replied, starting up his engine. "You're staying with me while your sister is staying with the Director. You should get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be busy."


	13. Marcellin Traver and the Black Crusade

"Do we have the information?" Abby asked me first thing the next morning as I walked into the lab, bright and early. She knew better, since nobody had much information to ride on. There were no leads, so my questioning the night before was vital.

McGee, standing next to her, smiled. "We probably don't, unless Gibbs interrogated it out of her father."

"Ha ha," I replied, blinking my sleepy eyes open and fingering the paper in my pocket. "As it so happens, I _did_ get the information. And it wasn't so hard after all."

"How was Gibbs' boat going?" Abby asked. "No, wait, scratch that thought for a minute. First things first: how _was_ it there last night?"

I shook my head, not wanting to reveal much (like getting a little drunk with Gibbs in his own basement and _then_ helping him with his boat). Like, oh, I don't know…Gibbs doing _Reveille_ (via a cassette player attached to old speakers) when I didn't get up at five that morning and ignoring him telling me to get up. Or, even better: Gibbs making me do morning exercises at oh-five-thirty when I slept at the kitchen table during breakfast, dipping my nose into a cup of coffee by accident. If _that_ wasn't the greatest morning (funny for Gibbs), then I don't know what was.

"Oh, don't wanna talk about it now?" Abby's green eyes gleaned. "It's ok. We all usually have a little fun down there. I remember, back when –"

"Abbs, the screen name and password," McGee reminded her.

"Right! Do you have it?"

"Duh." I handed Abby the paper from my pocket that held everything Dad told me and watched her type everything into the computer as she pulled it up. ACCESS GRANTED then flashed across the screen, different files revealing themselves to us.

"Now, let's see…which illegal file do we want to check on first?" Abby mused, moving the mouse to the top file, named OPERATION: BLACK CRUSADE. She clicked on it, revealing _globs_ of data, dating back to 1996.

"This must be what the group is about," McGee said. "Let's see…it says it's unknown when the Black Crusade was formed, but it's at least been around since the nineties. A thirteen-year-old girl named Maria came forward in 1996. After being bounced from person to person because of a 'stubborn attitude', it was finally decided that she was going to be killed. She then said that she escaped from this group when she knew that she was about to be killed. She watched her captor's schedule for several weeks and worked from there. From that moment on, she's been giving us information about how the 'Black Crusade' took Haitian children and used them in one of the largest child sex trade in history."

"At what age were they taken from their parents?" I asked, trying to skim through the extensive reports.

"Like I said yesterday, between two and four," Abby replied, reminding me through the sleepy haze I was still in. "It says here that it was when a formal education would be insured. Parents would give up their _lifesavings _in giving their children a better life, when it wasn't one. From then on, they wouldn't hear or see their children again. They wouldn't even be able to contact the 'agency' that took their children. There's barely a paper trail around, so they can't call or write or anything. I don't think I would know what to do if I had a kid and he or she was taken away and I never heard from them again."

"Other times, it seems like the Black Crusade made no qualms about kidnapping the children," McGee added, ignoring Abby's final rant. "About forty children each year are reported missing from various villages, mostly centralized in Sud department of the country."

"Yeah, and they get older and they don't live to puberty," I moaned, watching Abby scroll through pictures of dead children, all between the ages of ten and thirteen. "What's the next file talk about?"

"Some of the people involved, like people they photographed in the act," Abby replied, exiting out of that file and rolled over to the next one I was interested in. "Most of them are Haitians in it for the money. Some are part of the drug cartel who like to gain more money from selling children to those interested. Others are profiting, as a side income from their military pay."

"This we knew. That part was nothing new."

"Yeah, well, get this, Lydia. The guy that was heading this group from about 1991 onward was a former Navy officer by the name of Henry Austin. He went missing in Vietnam in 1971 and hasn't been seen since. He had a newborn son from a marriage, but the wife declared him legally dead seven years later. Then, he was found alive in 1991, according to these photos, and recognized as the leader of this group by 1997. By then, though, his twenty-six year old son had already inherited his life insurance and was funding himself a trip down to Haiti. Apparently, he was a washout of medical school, but he had enough money from that policy to make a rich life for himself."

"What's the son's name?"

Abby double-clicked on Henry Austin's name, automatically linking her to a page about her son. "There! There he is. And his name is –"

"Seth Austin," Gibbs interrupted, coming into the lab with his coffee and an early morning _Caf-Pow!, _especially for Abby. "He lives right in here in D.C., but we need an address, Abbs. When he wasn't granted his dual citizenship, he came back up to the U.S. Now, what else do you have?"

"Well, we need a picture…" I suggested, letting my sentence trial and wondering how Gibbs got his information.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," McGee replied, typing a few things before Seth Austin's picture popped up on the screen.

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. "That's Felix's boyfriend!" I blurted out immediately. "I met him the night that the Love had the shootout. He was toking before leaving for the men's room. Felix and I were stuck in that room until –"

"Do you know where he lives?" Gibbs questioned.

"No, but I'm pretty sure we can find something," I reassured him. "Why make him a person of interest, though? Innocent until proven guilty, remember? His father is suspected of running a child sex trade, but his name came up because he was running down to Haiti the same time they thought they found his father. It could be a coincidence."

"We don't believe in those," McGee said carefully, looking at Gibbs.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it could happen," I argued. "Despite him being the son of a guy in charge of a sex trade, there should be some doubt in suspects."

"Rule number –" McGee began.

"Later, McGee," Gibbs interrupted. "What else do you have?"

"The whole kitten caboodle!" Abby exclaimed as she also continued to flip through report after report on the file. "Gibbs, this file has _everything_ on this particular Haitian sex trade, from all the places, people and details. Some of it is missing, granted, but we still have some leads. I mean, the three 'safe houses', where the kids go when they're picked up, are in key locations. One of them is here in…oh, God, it's here in D.C. How could we have missed that?"

Abby turned back to Gibbs, done with reading. "There's no address, but it's a start."

"Where are the others?" Gibbs only asked.

"There's one in New Jersey, unknown location, and one in Los Angeles. There isn't an address for the one in L.A., either."

"Other than running history reports I asked for, did you also check all of the bullets that came up from Autopsy?"

"Every victim, from Colonel Henderson onward, was shot with the same kind of guns, Gibbs." Abby appeared thoughtful, as if she was on the edge of some rare discovery. "It's a Glock 17C, third generation in the series. Well, if you count the victims from the Love, there are two Glocks out here. Other than that, we have nothing."

"D.N.A. gathered from the scenes?"

"We have nothing, Gibbs. It seems like these people are pros at this. They know what they're doing. Ducky found _nothing_ on the bodies."

Gibbs put a reassuring hand on Abby's shoulder. "Then, we need to look harder. Did you check out the identity of the Haitian shooter?"

"That much I have," Abby said excitedly, turning back to her computer to bring the man up. "His name is also on this file and his D.N.A. is a match in the F.B.I. system, as well."

"So, we know he's involved directly with the Black Crusade," I said.

"Right," Abby replied. "The Haitian shooter was named Marcellin Traver. The F.B.I. has him wanted for terrorism. He tried hijacking a plane back in 2003 and, while he didn't have much success in navigating the plane to his wanted destination, he still managed to kidnap three children in the process. Last year, these children were found dead. F.B.I. said their throats were sliced and diced. Postmortem reports also said that they were sexually abused and beaten before murdered."

I winced at the expression, remembering the pictures of the dead children.

"What was his destination?" Gibbs asked.

Asbury Park, New Jersey," Abby answered. "There's a small community of Haitians there, according to Colonel Henderson's Pentagon reports." She continued to type and bring up more pictures and reports from the various folders in the file in rapid motions. "Guesses are, that's where the first hidey hole is. I'm still looking for the D.C. house. I can call Eric Beale and ask him to help me with the L.A. one."

Gibbs sighed, as if something was bothering him. "Good job, Abbs." He kissed her cheek.

"What's next, Boss?" McGee asked, still watching the screen…and Abby.

"Let me handle that," Gibbs said, walking out as he sipped his coffee. "We need to go in two different directions, so it might mean we have to split up."


	14. Nowhere to Turn

With nothing much else left to do with McGee and Abby (both saying that they have everything under control), my job in helping retrieve that file was over. I didn't know what other assignment Gibbs had in mind for me. I mean, two was enough to get the job done on researching. Not to mention, Abby had to add in the bullets from the Love, getting the address of Marcellin Traver (hard enough to crack into the F.B.I. files) and many other things. I couldn't afford to be in the way.

As I walked out of the lab, my phone decided to chirp twice. The first was a text message from Felix, the other from Keith.

_Dammit! I forgot about him. Is he ok? Does he need me? Jesus, does he know that I'm ok?_

"Wondering if u r k. Seth & I r out & k. Fnrl. not yet."

_That's wonderful to hear! Just hope to talk to Felix soon. And the funeral isn't scheduled yet? What's the hold-up?_

Feeling a little reassured (Felix was safe and sound!) and confused at the same time, I took the elevator upstairs and to the bullpen, intent on texting back later. Passing the agents at work, I walked into the ladies' room, intent on reading the last text message from Keith. I didn't know what kind of message it was (he rarely sends me anything or calls), so I didn't want anybody to see my reactions, whether it be red-faced, teary-eyed or even radiant (I could get anything from Keith). The ladies' room seemed to be the best place for privacy.

Closing and locking a stall door behind me, I flipped my phone open and read the message, containing only two words: "Call me." So I did, not expecting anything. I mean, Keith would ask me to call him and he would need something, like a ride someplace or a pack of cigarettes or something. It could mean anything.

"Lydia, where are you?" Those were the first words he said to me.

_Oops…I forgot to tell him what's been going on._

"Well, do you want the speed version or the whole story, in full?" I asked weakly, my knees starting to shake anxiously.

"I just want to know where you are."

"I can't say that." I bit my lip, trying not to spill the beans fully yet. It _was_ the truth, though. I couldn't tell him where I was.

"Why?" Keith sounded irritated, hearing it for the millionth time (and for different reasons other than being at the N.C.I.S. Headquarters, I can say). "Why can't you tell me where you are?"

"Security reasons," I started to explain. "I was at the Love with Felix and he wanted to introduce me to Seth, his new boyfriend, and there was that shooting and then I got – well, I'm ok. That's all that matters, right? Well, there was another murdered Marine. Oh, there was a couple more, actually. And all of them murdered so far have this link, right, Keith? Well, they were in this group investigating a child sex trade in Haiti in 1996. My father was part of them."

I heard Keith growl. Any mention of Dad got him on the edge.

"And you see, this truck made a loud noise the morning I got back," I rambled, regardless. "Dad was flashing back and he's at a V.A. Hospital and –"

"Lydia, _shut up_!"

I was taken back. I knew that I was a little nervous because Keith was annoyed, but I didn't know that bunching up words was getting on his nerves _that_ badly.

However, I soon found out what it was that.

"Lydia, you've been sneaking behind my back and lying to me –"

"_Lying_ to you?" I yelled, not caring where I was. "How am I _lying_ to you? I'm not being held hostage. I'm in protective custody. I'm not lying about that. I can give you Gibbs' number and then you can discuss it with him."

"That Jarhead again? Jesus, Lydia, why do you put your trust in people you barely know? The man thought I killed somebody I didn't know existed until recently. How can I put faith into him?"

"N.C.I.S. is a government agency serving the Navy and the Marines and their families," I pointed out, ignoring the fact that Gibbs thinks of Keith as a person of interest. "When I graduate, I already have a job offer with them. Unlike most, if not all, of my fellow classmates, I actually _have_ a job waiting for me on the other side. Gibbs offered it to me. And he wouldn't if he or Director Shepard didn't think that my abilities weren't of any merit."

"So, you've become one of them." Keith's voice sounded pained. I knew that he was distrustful of the government and anything associated with it. This job offer was going to make him tick like a bomb and I knew it at that moment, like a light bulb popping on in my head. He'll like it at first outwardly, but become annoyed with the hours, little to no vacation time and no shared benefits. We weren't married. He gets _nothing_ if I die unless I legally write a will saying so. And since I didn't believe in them, he wasn't going to be able to do anything if case the ultimate sacrifice had to be made.

Keith knew about sacrifice. He ran the deserts of Afghanistan and saw his worst nightmares come true. He then traveled to Saudi Arabia and became saddened and disgusted with the destruction of children used to the most twisted means. He saw lives lost and friends blown up. He saw sense when there wasn't supposed to be any and feel nothing.

My troubled boyfriend had no confidence in any government or organization. He served, he came home and he wanted to be normal once more…except there was no going back again. He had to relive everything time and again and each person who saw him thought that he was faking everything.

Of course, Keith had nothing to gain with anybody. Nobody _would_ give him the time of day to listen to his problems.

"What? No, I haven't become 'one of them' at all!" I exclaimed, thinking. "This isn't some government conspiracy, Keith. It's an agency that protects and helps two military branches and their families. It is politics, granted, but I've been schooled in it. I know what I'm doing."

"Then, you've become the person that I hoped you wouldn't become."

"What are you talking about?" My heart was sinking fast. I felt like I had to abandon ship in my own body.

"Lydia, when you decided on a career, I hoped that you would have stayed away from the military. I _wished_ that you would keep away from the dangers of being drawn into plots that could bring people down or help save them. And it doesn't matter which one is which. You've started to become the secretive, sneaky liar that I knew you aren't."

"Then, what are you saying?" I was choking on my own words. Panic overcame me, trouncing my body into pieces.

"You don't realize the danger you're putting yourself through. If you can't even put your confidence in me, then why bother being in a relationship with you? You haven't talked since your mother died. Then, when I thought that you were ready to finally punch that bastard of a father in the face, somebody gets murdered and you have to jump right on into the business of finding the culprit. Your life has been all about lies, Lydia. All you do is sneak around with me. All you do when investigating is poke around and lie. I can't do it anymore. You either fight back or take a ride out. Stand beside me, not behind me."

"I am standing beside you, Keith, and –"

"No, you're not. You have no proof. All you've been doing is playing hostage with your father and not standing up for yourself. I've fought with my family since I was ten. Do you think I'd lie about how I wanted to be with because they didn't approve? They _never_ approved of my life."

"Really? You want to go that route? You don't quite tell me the truth, either. Why do I hear from Andrew about where you're going and doing, then?"

"That's not his business!"

"Your business _should_ be mine!" Tears were mixing with my angry words. I had to get off the phone soon, before somebody heard us yelling at each other.

"Shouldn't _I_ be saying that?"

"No," I finally sobbed.

"Yes," Keith corrected. "We should be each others' business. You can't keep with that, then why be my girlfriend?"

"Keith," I started to beg.

"No," he finally interrupted. "Don't call me again. I don't want to hear from you again."

The phone _clicked_, leaving me on the other line, with nobody to talk to and no boyfriend to speak of anymore. The love of my life – the one person who held me together for the longest time, in thick and thin – was gone. The one man who I kept sane was gone. There was nothing but silence.

All it left me was tears: of rage, dependency and sadness. I had practically nowhere to turn to anymore except to myself.


	15. A Happy Family Reunion

As the other agents tackled Marcellin Traver's home, intent on interviewing Keith and Jay's commander soon (finally, I should say), I was in another office. Director Shepard (sitting with her for the first time) wanted me to go to New Jersey with Gibbs instead of Haiti, where I wished to go. As a training mission, to help me along in applying for the "Probie Agent", she mentioned that I would be scoring some serious brownie points in getting this case solved. A student civilian of criminal science helping N.C.I.S. uncovering a murderer of Marines _and_ perhaps a part of the Haitian child sex trade would be a good attachment to a résumé.

"As a guaranteed candidate for that position, I highly suggest it," she added, smiling and winking at me.

Gibbs said nothing, but hearing Director Shepard go on and on about the ramifications of this grand opportunity was making me regret my decision to join N.C.I.S. and lose Keith. Oh, hell, I knew that I didn't need a man in my life. However, to be hurt that way still kept my eyes red-rimmed, with an additional want to keep crying. It kept my mind from focusing on the next step in the case on my part. But, I knew that with extra guards at my father's side and Mara, Sammy and I in N.C.I.S. custody, there shouldn't be another murder for a while to those connected to Haiti, we hoped. There shouldn't be any tears of sorrow or funerals to attend.

But, there were. And there was more to come.

"In the meantime, why don't you and Agent Gibbs join me for dinner tonight?" Director Shepard asked. The question caught me off-guard.

"Huh?" I rubbed my eyes, frantically thinking of an intelligent answer. "Sure, that'll be fine. Do I need to bring anything special?"

"No," the Director answered, smiling at Gibbs. "Your flight to New Jersey will be tomorrow night. As far as I know, that is the first flight out. We couldn't get anything earlier."

I groaned inwardly, knowing that Gibbs will be up to his early morning tricks again if I didn't wake up when he wanted me to. A slap to the back of the head was more welcome than exercises and military music! I had enough from Dad as it was.

"I thought her sister and son are supposed to be there," Gibbs pointed out.

"That shouldn't interfere with the watch schedule," the Director replied, raising an eyebrow. "Tony and Ziva will be there, as their posts."

"No, but DiNozzo's nose will be sniffing out the food."

"We don't know that."

"You don't sound so sure about that, Jen."

_Great…I'm stuck in-between their flirting. Time to tune out._

"…so, we should have all agents around," Gibbs then said, the first thing I heard when I dared to listen again, a few minutes later.

"And invite everybody?" The Director smiled. "That's a deal. It'll be nice to have a crowded house for once."

_It just seems like one happy family reunion, then._ I wasn't quite relishing the thought.

~00~

It seemed like a huge party at the Director's house that night. Unexpectedly asked to come over at such short notice, there seemed to be too many people milling around the Georgetown house. I mean, besides Gibbs and his three agents and Mara and Sammy in the house, there was also Jimmy Palmer, Abby and Ducky.

Despite the crowd, I felt quite alone. Wandering aimlessly alone in a room full of laughter, games and teasing, I didn't quite know what to do with myself, drinking spiked punch and feeling like dying in one corner. Mara was upstairs without her guards, trying to put Sammy to bed. Gibbs and Director Shepard were actually drinking in one corner of the Director's living room, giggling about something, their faces illuminated by the dimming candlelight. Palmer and Ducky were in a tight-knitted circle with Abby and McGee, talking. And then, there was Ziva and Tony, in another corner: pushing each other around, drinking freely, flirting lightly.

There was obvious chemistry between this large family, but I felt like an extra wheel. I knew that I wasn't going to fit into this group.

With a drink in hand, I walked upstairs. I wanted to see Mara and talk with her (if not to give her some company because the agents weren't even paying her any attention). I remember her mentioning that she needed to talk to me, via text messaging a few days ago. However, the time we've had to do that was zero. We've both been in two different directions ever since she went to Los Angeles to visit Larry's family. And ever since this whole murdering spree started…

I _knocked_ on Mara's room for the time being, noting the absent crying that Sammy usually gave her when put down in his crib. I figured that he was asleep, especially when Mara called me in, her voice hushed enough for me to hear, but not the baby.

"Hey." I slipped in, closing the door quietly behind me and seeing my sister sitting on the bed with a book.

"I'm happy they're pretty nice down there," Mara replied, smiling. "It's been a relief that Sammy's finally asleep. It's been the fastest time I've been able to put him down."

I sat down on the bed with Mara, hugging her tightly before letting go. "Oh, Mara, it's been a tough week altogether. Colonel Henderson is dead, Dad has gone nuts and Jay's still in Iraq. And Keith –"

I suddenly broke down without meaning, Mara taking me into her arms immediately. "There, there, Lydia. It's ok. It'll be ok. Keith is going through a stage."

"You don't understand!" I sobbed, knowing that Mara was misunderstanding the situation. "Keith broke up with me because I accepted that job at N.C.I.S. He said that he couldn't trust me anymore because all I do is sneak around and lie!"

"You know that that's not true," Mara soothed as her hand brushed through my tangled hair. "There, there, Lydia. It's been a tough week so far, like you said. A lot has been going on. It's only Wednesday. The day is over. Tomorrow is a new day. You're going on a trip and you're helping to solve a case. Now, what criminal science student would want it any other way?" Mara smiled as she let me go, her hands on my shoulders. "Come on, Lydia. Some student in your department would _kill_ to have the position you have now. I mean, N.C.I.S., a federal agency, has asked _you_ to help in an investigation."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better _how_?" I asked, confused. Tears were still shaking down my face, but slower.

"Well, think of the opportunities," Mara pointed out.

"Some opportunities," I muttered, pushing Mara's hands off of me.

"Well, there's more," Mara offered. "I told Director Shepard this, but I don't think she took too much fuss into it. I've wanted to tell you this, too, but we haven't had the chance to yet."

"I've noticed."

"Yeah, Lydia, I know. We've barely seen each other since I moved out with Larry when I was pregnant. But, I'm trying to make it up to you. I'm trying to help you with the investigation."

"How?"

"I've got a strange call from Felix when I was in L.A.," Mara offered. "I was sitting with Larry's mother when he called my cell phone, so she took the baby and left me alone. And, well…I took the call alone and heard him talking, as if I were you, and listened to his ranting before I notified him that it was me. Then, he realized his mistake and started apologizing profusely."

"Well, his contacts list is in alphabetical order and our names are one after another."

"Lydia, that's not the point. The point is, he called me. It was creepy. And, come to think about it, it was the night before Colonel Henderson was murdered. And he was talking about how his uncle was being an ass again, saying that being gay was a sin and it was going to destroy his own reputation with everybody he knows."

"That's normal, Mara. I've heard it all before."

That's not all. While I was talking with him, I heard a little boy talking. He was talking in Spanish, elementary Spanish, I mean. He was saying, 'Help me. Please, help me.' All while Felix was talking. Then, I didn't hear him anymore after Felix excused himself for a minute. It was like his voice was muffled or something."

"You're being paranoid. Felix _does_ watch the neighbor's kids once in a while. And they came from Puerto Rico. They speak Spanish and let me tell you, the toddler is _the_ cutest little boy there is and –"

"Lydia, _stop_." Mara put her hand up until I stopped rambling. "Stop. You're talking on and on and not making sense. But, stop for a moment and listen. Maybe I'm being paranoid and maybe I'm not. But, I seriously think that a panicking child saying that in Spanish might merit some investigating. Has _anyone_ talked with Felix since this whole thing began?"

"I don't know," I honestly admitted, my face all dried of all tears. "I really don't know."

"Then, maybe somebody should get him," Mara suggested to me. "I told Director Shepard that, but she wouldn't give it a thought. She said that her agents know what they're doing and not to worry about it. She did, however, thank me for the info and said that they'll look into it."

"Well, that's something," I said.

"Not enough. I think Felix is up to something."

"He's _grieving _hard, Mara. He doesn't know what to do. He's turning to vices so that he could forget."

"Yeah, and what is he's involved in this child sex trade, huh?" Mara squared her eyes at me. "You know what? Never mind. You'll always defend him. He's always been the shield that you took advantage of. He took that and twisted it, making a friendship out of it. He has you so wrapped around your fingers that you don't believe that something suspicious is going on under your nose. Either that, or you just don't care."

"It's not happening that way!" I hissed, hearing Sammy stir. "Felix isn't the person you think he is. I know him in the way you don't. And, and…well, you just don't get it, do you? I play with 'innocent until proven guilty' and you're jumping the gun. Well, excuse me, Mara, but I actually _look_ at evidence before I make a decision on whom to follow. And so far, Felix hasn't been a suspect in the investigation yet."

"Get out." Mara's words sounded hollow, as if she was so pissed off that she didn't want to speak with me anymore. It's as if she disowned me, telling me not to let the door hit me in the ass as I went.

"Fine." I didn't need to say anymore. I got up and left, without looking behind me, not even caring that Sammy was crying.


	16. That Grey Shadow in the Hallway

Questions had answers to them, if only somebody dug deep enough. Sometimes, the best tidbits came from the most unexpected, the ones who were close to the people in power.

There was just one more person that I could pry information from, even if after-party drunken agents were tempting sleep and ignoring my inquiries. I didn't know if it would work or not (blackmail is a wonderful thing, especially with Tony's big, drunk mouth), but I had to try anything to get what I wanted.

I found her, some hours later, in the garden behind the Director's house. She was stalking the outside walls and air, as if searching for an invisible prey. Armed well (I could just see the outline of a knife in her pant leg), she carefully _crunched_ grass under her boots as a gun decorated her hands, gingerly wiping the late night dew from its tops. She didn't even notice my presence behind her until I myself stubbed my toe into a random garden gnome.

Quick reflexes almost got me killed. She turned around with her gun in one hand, quickly taking out a knife out of her pant leg and aimed for my forehead. However, as soon as she saw me, she put it away as fast as she had taken it out.

"Did you know –?" Ziva David started.

"Yes, I know I could have gotten myself killed." I sat down on a stone bench next to the gnome, cursing it silently for blowing my cover.

Ziva sat down next to me, continuing to eye the backyard carefully with suspicion as she talked to me. "You're supposed to be inside."

"Don't you think that I don't know that?" I huffed in obvious frustration. "Getting into an argument with Mara doesn't quite entice me to go to my room. She's next door, has easy access to me and gives me a headache. I want to stay away from that situation as much as possible."

"Are you telling me that you put your hand in your mouth?"

"Foot," I corrected, shaking my head. "And yes, I probably did. I stand by my principles, but when doubt eats at me, I always look back to those. All that doubt is supposed to go away, but it doesn't. You know what I mean?"

"Your friends are in trouble, but you want to know that they didn't do anything."

"How did you know?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I was outside your sister's room when you went upstairs."

"I thought you were more interested in Tony?" I smirked, trying to hide the embarrassment. Ziva now knew a lot more than I intended, but being in charge of our safety is a priority. But, I could hardly blame her for listening in.

"Sometimes, it is just better to appear than it is to be."

"Does that mean you slept with Tony?" I tried being funny, changing the topic, but Ziva soon turned just as frustrated, angry even.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked, brandishing her knife once more.

"Humor, Ziva, humor," I replied quickly, trying to save my own skin as I held my hands up for defense. "Remember? It's a funny. Ha, ha…remember?"

"Fine." She put the knife away again. "But, you should be inside. You should be in bed. Off with you!"

"Not yet," I said. "You're supposed to be 'protecting' me, but I'm also a link in this case."

"I'm not Tony or McGee. You're not getting any information from me."

"But, if you broke one of those rules Gibbs put into place…?" I offered, backing into my sweet blackmail.

"I did no such thing!"

"If you're so sure about Tony, then I'll be off." I got up and was about to get away with a gossiping crime when Ziva stopped me midway to the house, still on alert.

"I don't want to play games here," Ziva started as she stood before me, "so we're making this quick. What do you want?"

"Who's on the suspect list now?" I asked. "Nobody is telling me who is where and why. There seems to be no interrogating here. Gibbs has only mentioned a person here or there. Asked me questions about people and where they've been. Nothing else."

"Because this is what you Americans call a 'high profile case'," Ziva revealed with a sigh. "The Director wants to be careful with this one. She wants to make sure that we're making the right moves."

"Tread carefully?" I asked.

"Exactly."

"I don't think Gibbs likes it that much, does he?"

"No."

"Well, who are the suspects?"

"Whatever Abby and McGee found on those computer files, Felix Henderson, Seth Austin, Keith Bolton…"

I winced at the mention of my now-ex boyfriend.

"There are many people linked to this case. As far as I know, you and Gibbs are going to New Jersey to see if there is a 'trading post' there in the Haitian community. A trip to Haiti itself seems out of the question now."

Haiti seemed a better place to start, but I didn't argue with Ziva. "A 'trading post'? Is that what it's called now?"

"It's what I call it."

I found the disgust in her voice, referring to the meeting spots where the children are given to new "parents". Gross as the situation is, I knew that it had to be stopped. Personal feelings aside, Colonel Henderson's murder (as well as the others' grisly demises) had to be solved quickly. Time was of the essence, but already, after almost a week, we've barely covered any ground.

Anyway, if it all had to go down this road, then it had to be. Just as long as it solved all the murders, then we had to stop and destroy everybody standing in the way. However, I don't think anybody imagined that a Haitian child sex trade could be linked to the murder of several older Marines.

"You should go back to bed," Ziva insisted again, turning me so that I faced the back door. "I don't want Gibbs to get upset. If he gets up and finds you missing, we'll all be in trouble. Jenny's house will be on fire before we know it."

"I kinda figured as much." I took the hint, taking the initial footsteps, not looking forward to Mara being there, criticizing me and being so condescending.

However, Ziva stopped me, standing in front of me again. "If you so ever tell _anyone_ about mine and Tony's…odd…evening, I swear that you will regret ever living. Is that understood?"

"You think I would tell anyone?" I asked honestly. "I know that you're close to the people in charge mostly and you might know something more than McGee and Tony."

"How do you know about me and Jenny?"

"Well, I don't know details. However, from what I've known about women, especially those who've worked together for a long time, I can tell when two are chummy."

"Close, you mean?"

I sighed, growing weary, my eyes becoming blurry. "Yes. Now, you said I had to go to bed. Can I go now?"

Ziva stepped aside. "I shall be up shortly. I need to check to see if everyone is in their places. Tony is supposed to be out here soon. McGee is up front, is he not?"

"I don't know. "I shrugged my shoulders as I snuck through the back door. "I don't keep track of where and when people need to be. Jesus, do I need to start holding all of your hands and telling you what to do? I thought it wasn't my job."

~00~

The dark hallways illustrated and then trembled a dreamlike scenario, another surreal series of events that I didn't think could be true. The episode seemed to be a rerun, but things were different this time. Something was out of place and I knew it as soon I started stalking the dark nooks and crannies of the large house.

I had left Ziva, knowing a little more than what I wanted to. I was hurt from my break-up with Keith and was frustrated from my argument with Mara. I got more than I bargained for in one day and knew that a larger day was ahead of me. I had a couple of hours before somebody would wake me up (Director Shepard, mostly likely, dreading Gibbs doing it instead of her) and get me packed and shipped to New Jersey.

_This is frustrating. I have to deal with Gibbs in a Haitian community and these people would continue connecting the dots and interviewing people, if Director Shepard would allow them to. People seem to scatter more if called in, if I got Ziva's message right. They're being careful, not knowing if another Marine will be struck down. If the pattern is right, Dad would be the last to be targeted._

My thoughts kept repeating over and over again. Something didn't seem right, though. The case and walking this home, I meant. There was no light, no certain pathway to go and, most certainly, no clear solution to the puzzle. The mazes' finish line seems out of reach. I had to navigate without a compass, without much help. I had to avoid jumping walls in order to prevent myself from cheating and getting to where I need to be on time.

_On time for what, though? What was the race, other than to stop somebody from murdering Marines?_

I stumbled up the stairs, wiping cold sweat off of my forehead. Despite the central air, the time outdoors with Ziva had left me breathless and prickly with heat. Gibbs was right, though. I still haven't recovered from this thing they call "heat exhaustion", but the sweating was a sure good sign. Hell, I've been running around nonstop, trying to become the agent that they're gearing me up to me. They're pushing me to a limit that I knew that I had to reach.

_Just say to jump and I'll ask how high._

I took a right at the top of the stairs, knowing that my room was right next door to Mara and Sammy's room. I sighed, wanting to avoid another confrontation with my sister (then and even in the near future), but I didn't think the two would be up at this hour. Sammy does sleep through the night sometimes, waking up early for a bottle. Mara just doesn't realize it and will get up every two hours to check on him, waking him up occasionally to see if he'll eat.

I didn't hear my nephew crying as I rounded a corner, so I thought it safe to tiptoe through the grey and black walls and get to my room. Sleep was calling to me, echoing a message that my body's been telling me for days: _rest_.

Rest was much needed for my ailing body. Smiling (and knowing that Gibbs won't be waking me up, hearing him talk to Director Shepard in a bedroom, the door ajar), I walked without fear to the last door on this end of the floor. I knew how comfy my bed was going to be…

Instead, my left foot ran into a heavy, soft object on the floor, my feet touching something wet. When I stopped and looked down, all I saw was a shadowy lump in a pool of liquid, unmoving.


	17. Indifference

It was about four in the morning when all of us at the Director's got together in the front foyer. McGee, Ziva and Tony were lined up next to me as I held onto Sammy (cuddling into my shoulder, calmly sleeping), as if we were criminals on trials and we were awaiting our sentence. All of us faced Gibbs and Director Shepard, both of whom did not look amused in the slightest. Both actually were rather pissed off.

I, on the other hand, could not speak. I felt cold, as if death itself had gotten to me instead of Mara. I was shocked to silence. I walked in on another body and this time, it was my own sister, the second family member I ran into dead.

It was tragic. Her own son would not know her. I would never apologize to her for all that was said. She had joined the ranks of Mom, Colonel Henderson and many others now.

But, I could not have regrets now or ever again. Having seen so much death has made me start to feel indifferent to it. You could be here today and gone tomorrow.

"Can anybody start explaining to me why my home just became a crime scene?" Director Shepard started, her hands behind her back as she began pacing back and forth in her nightgown. All four of us (Sammy excluded, not paying attention as he slept peacefully) watched her, but Gibbs brought us back to attention.

"I would like some answers and I want them _now_," he growled, looking from me and Sammy to Tony and McGee in the middle and then Ziva down at the other end.

Director Shepard stopped pacing, standing in front of Tony in a menacing manner. "Care to explain anything, Agent DiNozzo?" she asked coldly, a flash of skates dancing on the ice in her eyes.

"I may have been slightly intoxicated, Director, but I was at my post, just as I was ordered to," Tony replied stiffly. "I saw nobody entering and exiting the scene. There is nothing else to report, Ma'am."

"And you, McGee?" Director Shepard moved to the next target, who gulped audibly.

McGee straightened out his body, showing that he had some spine left in him (and respect, to boot). "I was also in my designated area, Ma'am, and did check the upstairs thoroughly before patrolling the front yard, as was ordered. I also didn't see or hear a peep."

"Officer David!" Director Shepard barked as she turned away from McGee. "Where were you?"

"I had checked out the backyard, as was ordered, and double-checked the upstairs after McGee had been there." Ziva sounded stiff, emotionless, like the cold-blooded killer people whisper that she is. "I then patrolled the downstairs with Tony and the parameters of the building, as was ordered. I saw nothing, as did everybody else."

"Something is amiss, then!" Director Shepard yelled as she started that pacing thing again. "I don't know what happened and how it did. I don't even know how an intruder came in here. And I need all _three_ of you to give me answers. _Now!_"

Without arguing, all agents, minus Gibbs, scattered, went upstairs to the crime scene, leaving me and Sammy alone. My nephew was unaware that his mother was now dead (thankfully), but he was going to grow up not knowing about Mara. He wouldn't know about her kindness and strength, that ability to take on any challenge, especially him. She was just as stubborn as me and Jay, putting an arm's length on people and never giving an inch. She didn't trust too many people, reluctantly dating when she knew Dad wasn't going to be tracking her down and spying. After all, he was not pleased about Larry and her being pregnant and all…

_Stop it, Lydia. She's dead now. It's tough and sad and we know it. But, it's time to put it all behind you. Mara didn't want you to be close to her after she became pregnant. She pushed you away. She fought to keep you away from her. Why should you care?_

I tried keeping all this in mind, but a tinier voice in the back of mind seemed louder. _You care, Lydia. You're just trying to be brave and not break down. You're keeping it together when you understandably need time and space._

"Lydia," Director Shepard said, snapping me into attention, "I need you to ready yourself for tonight's trip after they're finished."

I said nothing back, listening to Sammy's breathing and not much else.

"Keep your eyes open," she continued, regardless. "This is your first assignment with N.C.I.S."

"Are you calling me an intern, Ma'am?" I asked, finding my voice.

"If you want to call it that," was the reply. A quick glance to Gibbs revealed that he didn't like the word (and, I'm guessing, having to be in charge of any "interns").

"What time are we leaving?" I motioned Sammy to her, reminding her and Gibbs that my brand new responsibility was with the little three-month-old bundle in my arms, so I might not make that trip to New Jersey.

"Plane takes off around seven," Gibbs answered for Director Shepard. "Your nephew will be going into Child Services' custody."

My ears perked up immediately. "You can't do that."

"Lydia, the child's father isn't on the birth certificate, although I'm certain your sister knew who the person was," Director Shepard pointed out, frowning. "Sammy can't come with you and your father is currently unable to care for a child, much less himself. Custody is with Child Services unless his father comes forward and takes him."

My eyes misted as I looked down at the warm body in my arms. I didn't get to know Sammy since Mara was constantly obsessed with doing things herself. She closed everybody off, leaving no room for visiting or time to get to know Sammy. She was the one in control, saying when and where she went. Now, she's dead and I have her son with me.

I know that I can't take care of Sammy. I'm not prepared for it. I can't even figure out the first thing about taking care of babies except for some bottle feeding every couple of hours and changing a diaper. He could be a dead weight when Gibbs and I go to New Jersey. He could be with us and blow a cover. Not to mention, we don't have a babysitter. Child Services might be the best option, but I hated it. Just the name itself sent shivers down my back, knowing that they did nothing for us.

_What would they do for Sammy? If Child Services claimed that Dad was a fit parent, even when he was disciplining us in front of them, then what kind of protective home will they put Sammy? I've heard of horror stories. Henrietta was in and out of foster homes for years. Beth had been given to relatives after her parents died and then taken away to a couple that abused her, even though Child Services said they were fine parents. Before given to Larry, what will Sammy have to endure? Would I have to check on him constantly?_

"Do you know the father?" Gibbs asked me, knowing the answer anyway.

"Yes," I honestly replied. I couldn't lie. "His name is Larry Reddington. I don't know where he is currently."

"Then, Child Services can have Sammy and when he's been informed, he'll go to his father," Director Shepard decided. "Go on, Lydia. You can go back to bed."

I followed Director Shepard's finger as she pointed to her study, which held not only her deck, personal papers and alcohol, but also a couch with some bedding on it. Only guessing that she had it made because she knew that I wouldn't want to see the crime scene again, I handed Sammy to her and went to the study, Gibbs behind me to stand guard. I even turned back before the doors were shut, seeing Sammy's hand limply hang over the Director's shoulder, as if waving goodbye to me forever. His eyes shut to the harsh world, he dropped his trust into a woman he didn't know, someone who was not his mother.

This time, my eyes had real tears in them. For everything that had happened, I had droplets of water coming down my face.

"Good night, little guy," I whispered as I tucked myself into bed, hiding my red face from Gibbs. "I'll see you around sometime."


	18. Ashbury Park

**I'm SUPER sorry about the lack of updates lately! I've been on writers' block for the past few months and I had no Internet for a month. So, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter. I'm working on another as we speak!**

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A somewhat drafty breeze went through my hair as I looked down at the tiny Haitian community of Ashbury Park, New Jersey from a tall office building. Heavy binoculars in hands (wary of the police cruiser hidden nearby), I studied a warehouse at the corner, wondering if that was the building we needed to invade and investigate. Suspects were already evaporating before our eyes and mine and Gibbs' next bet was the brick building that everybody said they had no clue about, but were keeping quiet on.

Marcellin Traver's home came up with nothing, as I've found out via a video conference in our motel room the night before (Gibbs cursing about technology again). McGee and Tony didn't find anything that suggested that he was part of a sex trade. However, the apartment was almost emptied, as if somebody left in a hurry. Random clothes on the floor, bedding tossed aside in a corner. The food was even left behind, none of it storing any secrets harbored by a suspected murderer…as Tony found out when he poured everything out and sorted through each flake, crumb and piece.

I coughed loudly as I watched the building under my little parasol called the shade, my fingers just _itching_ to take a sip from the water bottle next to me. I mean, nothing had been happening at all in that building that both the police and some locals pointed out (the latter quietly). The metal door in the front hadn't opened since I started watching it hours before. Gibbs, on the other side of the block and watching the back door, hadn't radioed me yet to say anything. The police officer in his cruiser has seen nothing.

There wasn't even an order to do something from Gibbs, so I assumed that it's been quiet on his side, too. _Too_ quiet, I should say.

Well, come to think of it, Gibbs hasn't said much on the trip anyhow. We passed through airport security without issues and boarded without trouble, but the plane's stewardesses were always commenting on the way there on how cute we looked together, a father and daughter going on a trip to New Jersey. I exchanged a quick glance with Gibbs (looking up from some random, inane magazine he was reading) before he said something to them about me being his daughter Kelly and that we were going to visit some old family in Stillwater, Pennsylvania.

Gibbs then petted my hair, as if I were his daughter (the motion was tender, gentle even), and turned his attention back to that damned magazine on his lap. During this whole episode, I don't think he saw what I did in his eyes: love, pain and remorse at the same time. I wasn't used to seeing a different side of him just yet. I don't think I wanted to.

And here I was, just starting to get used to the stink of New Jersey and the suburbs' middle class snobbishness.

I shook my head, my nostrils flaring as they caught another scent of city garbage and scum from a random wind. Suddenly, my stomach was reminding me that all I had in two days were peanuts on the plane and a bag of chips on the way to the motel the night before. I ignored it, focusing on the building. The dual looking glass was still showing me nothing. Our target was a dud still.

I picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the "talk" button, already tired of spending my day staring and burning in the sun. "Lydia to Gibbs. November Oscar Tango Hotel India November Golf. Over!"

"I read you." Gibbs sounded frustrated, but I knew he wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Few more minutes and we'll be done."

_That_ was music to my ears.

"But, we still need to check this place out periodically," Gibbs added. "We need to be patient."

I let my finger slip off of the "talk" button so that Gibbs didn't hear me groan and curse under my breath. It seemed like he was misreading the locals and took this spot as one of the hiding places where the children are processed. However, we both knew that it wasn't the case here. Everybody seemed to have talked in hushed tones every time we asked somebody, even the local police. However, none of the six people on the street and the two cops we asked seemed to want to tell what was inside.

Somehow, though, it all seems to be some open secret here, as if everybody knows something, but won't tell outsiders.

It was the perfect hint, indeed, but I thought that we needed something more than Gibbs' gut feeling and some clues to get to the bottom of this place. I was getting more than irritated at aggravating the locals AND the police. I had the feeling we were being watched ourselves. Our questions were raising red flags and I knew it.

"Are you there, Lydia?" Gibbs then asked me, static lining his voice.

"I'm here, barely loud and clear, _Sir_," I replied sarcastically as I pressed my "talk" button once more.

"Ok, ok. Stop being the smartass and…"

"And what, Gibbs?" He had stopped himself for a reason and I was getting more curious by the minute as to why.

"Lydia, I just saw someone going to the front. What do you see from your position?"

I looked down again, without the binoculars, seeing a blur of a man searching left and right before going to the front door of the warehouse and trying to unlock the padlock. "Oh, my God…"

"Lydia…?"

I recovered from my shock quickly, shaking my head. "Gibbs, we have a suspect at twelve o'clock."

"See what I mean when I told you we need to be patient? Now, meet me at the back building of my position and make sure you're not seen. Don't bother our escort. We'll go from there."

"Yes, Sir!"

Within seconds, I gathered up my things (happy that we wouldn't deal with the cop) and stuffed them into my backpack as fast as I could. Drinking down some water as well before running to the roof's door and heading to the bottom, I thought about evading that escort of ours. From where I was, I could run through the back and meet Gibbs on his side and we go to the middle. That person was another suspect and we were sure about it. He could give me clues about the warehouse that the others would not.

But, I was caught by the wrong person and it wasn't Gibbs or our friendly, neighborhood police officer.

As I got to the bottom floor of the building and turned a right, to get out the nearest doorway, somebody blocked my way, a gun visibly in his hands. As I turned my head around the corner, I saw another man with a gun. He was covering the goon at the door, the same one in front of me.

"Whoa, buddy," I said nervously, putting my hands up in the air. "Do you need directions?"

"Ah, don't we have a clown with us?" the man asked, an obvious French accent in his voice. If I had to guess what it was, he probably came from Haiti and not France.

"Naw, just some girl seeing her dad," I replied smartly.

"I haven't seen you around here." The man lowered his guard a little, enough for me to make a run for it, but not enough for me to miss him and the backup's gunfire.

"Maybe I like to keep quiet, like a ghost?" I put my hands behind my head, to show that I was cooperating with him, but I had my eyes more on the man across the street. "You know, not say anything and listen?"

The man saw where my eyes were heading, all according to some plan I didn't have. "All right then, little ghost, then what do you want with Ewenso Simon?"

"Ewenso Simon? _Oh_, you mean that guy over there?"

"Don't play games with me, little girl. In my country, if we found someone like you, you aren't a little ghost. You're a _rat_."

"And rats become ghosts someday," I replied back quickly as I put my hands down and pushed him aside, using the goon as a shield from the back up man in the corner.

Shots were fired, but from which direction, I didn't know. All I knew, as I ducked and rolled from that office building after the backup shot his friend, was that the idiot who blocked my way was dead and the man named Ewenso Simon was started by the noise, leaving the warehouse scene quickly. When I picked myself up and ran, bullets from Gibbs' gun running to the backup closely behind me, I went after Ewenso Simon.

"Stop! Federal agent!" I was using some serious liberty calling myself that, but I had to grab our next suspect.

The man named Ewenso Simon ran faster hearing that federal agents were behind him, which made me pick up my pace, too. With Gibbs handling Thing One at the door and Thing Two at the corner behind me (certain that Thing One was dead), I needed to take care of Simon.

Pocketing my own weapon (given to me by the agency), I pumped up my legs, closing in on my target. I had one thought in my mind and that was to get Ewenso Simon.

"Federal agent!" I yelled again, but to no avail. The man kept trying to find places to hide on the open streets, but it was pathetic the way he tried.

_Is he insane or something?_

Losing speed and help, Simon became desperate and slowed down. And I was getting closer, _closer_…

"Gotcha!" I yelled as I got close enough to Simon, jumping on him fast and pinning him down. With a quickness I never knew I had, I handcuffed him with my new set.

"Damn bitch agent," Simon muttered. "You could have just left it alone. You could have left _us_ alone!"

"We'll talk about that later," I replied, putting my full weight on his ass to make sure he didn't get away (and wishing Gibbs was here to help after Things One and Two). "You know, when you can tell me all about those things that we're supposed to be leaving alone."

Gibbs suddenly caught up with me, gun pointed at our suspect. "Good work, Lydia."

I wanted to thank Gibbs, but beaming at him was more than enough. Being his tired student was hard enough work. And I knew he hated interns, too, so it was mutual almost.

Simon kept struggling to break free, but Gibbs grabbed him before I knew it, knocking me to the ground in the process. "And who is our guest this evening, Lydia?" he asked me.

Recovering from hitting pavement, I replied as I stood up, "Special Agent Gibbs, meet Ewenso Simon, who is our new suspect."

"Suspect? Suspect in what?" Simon demanded. "I need a lawyer. Jésus, what am I a suspect in?"

I didn't want to answer, but Gibbs got there first. Gibbs, who has been instilling fear into his suspects and agents alike, was going to tell him the charges. Gibbs, who usually never talks and still gives facial expressions, was going to let loose lips fly and push our new suspect into talking about the Haitian sex trade…perhaps. We did have a chance, after all.

"You're going to be charged with the murder of four Marines if we don't get some straight answers," Gibbs said. "You're also going to tell us about this little child sex trade in Haiti that we've been so anxious to hear about."

"Sex trade and…and m-murder? No, no, I don't know anything about a sex trade or murder." Simon looked desperate as Gibbs let him to a police cruiser nearby, our attendant confused. "Please, let me go. I don't know anything about it."

"Oh, you'll know something," Gibbs replied sarcastically. "Soon enough."


	19. The Soldier Who Wanted Life

Gibbs had been letting Simon sit in the Ashbury Park police's interrogation room for some hours before entering to talk. Behind the glass on the other side sipping some coffee and eating a rare doughnut (feeling lucky to be eating), I was supposed to be watching and learning on how to interrogate people, but it also gave me insight into the complex person that was Gibbs.

Not to mention, I learned another one of Gibbs' rules. "Never leave suspects in the same room together".

_It would have made Professor MacNara proud. He would have liked to hear these rules of Gibbs'. I think it would have helped him with is classes._

Finally, after five hours of watching Simon pace the room and yell about a lawyer, Gibbs quietly entered the interrogation room, a thick folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. Without a word, he sat down with this things on the table, motioning that the raving Simon do the same. He obeyed, but fidgeted every chance he got.

"Is he usually like this?" the police officer, who accompanied us on warehouse watching, asked me.

"I don't know." I took another sip of coffee. "This is my first time traveling with him."

"Ah." He was quiet for a moment. "Well, I'm Todd. Officer Todd Henley."

"Lydia. Lydia Sullivan, federal agent in training." Ignoring Todd and his offered hand, I listened to the papers rustling in the other room, thinking that Gibbs was perhaps not going to start and make Simon squirm some more, but eventually, he did.

"So, Ewenso Simon, what is a felon like you doing in Ashbury Park, New Jersey?" Gibbs started by opening his folder of secrets and reading from them, glasses on. "You're wanted in New York City and Washington, D.C. and it's not just for jaywalking."

"That vehicular manslaughter thing was not supposed to be on my record!" Simon yelled, instantly pointing his finger at the folder and tapping each line. "And that – that blackmail thing wasn't supposed be there, too." Standing up, Simon looked to Gibbs. "I'm innocent of charges. I want a lawyer!"

Gibbs stood up, swiftly grabbing Simon by his shirt collar. "You sit your ass down and answer our questions. You need a lawyer, you have a right to that. However, I suggest that it'd be better for you to start talking…_now_."

Shoving Simon down in his seat, Gibbs sat down himself and resumed paraphrasing the file, calm as a cucumber. "It also says here that you've been accused of sexually molesting a little girl."

"You know that it's –"

"What do you have to say to that?!" Gibbs yelled, interrupting another complaint. "Since, of course, this is all tied to the Black Crusade of Haiti."

Simon shuddered, I noticed.

"Did he just do what I thought he did?" Todd asked me, gently taking my arm into his familiarly, my doughnut dropping to the floor.

"Do what?" Sighing with frustration, I sipped some more coffee with my free hand, trying to play stupid and get some sympathy from Todd.

"He trembled, like he was scared of something."

"Really?" My ruse was working. Todd was starting to be wrapped around my fingers.

"You know, when Special Agent Gibbs mentioned the Black Crusade, Ewenso Simon was very scared, like we found out what he was doing. Like there was danger in what was said. It's in his body expressions. You know what I mean?"

"Uh-huh," I muttered through another coffee sip. "Shh!"

There had been silence after Gibbs showed the cards in his hand. Both interrogator and suspect stared at each other after the Black Crusade mention, measuring the others' faces, as if they both wanted to know what was truly going on and where the catch was. However, Gibbs did not waver, allowing Simon to talk when he wanted to. Eventually, the stubborn one screaming about a lawyer had something to say about the Black Crusade.

"I want this off the record," Simon reasoned, a glean in his brown eyes. "I want this without being recorded. I want no evidence that I said anything about the Black Crusade."

"Exchanging deals with child molesters isn't my plan," Gibbs explained quickly.

"I am no child molester!"

"Mind telling us who is? Who's the mastermind behind this operation?" Gibbs leaned forward, as if interested in Simon, but the latter was not fooled.

"Either this is off the record and I'm offered protection, or you get nothing. Take it or leave it."

Gibbs seriously considered the deal for a moment as he eased back into his chair, giving him the impression that he was winning over the interrogator. He had to weigh in the pros and cons before allowing Simon to say anything. However, he knew that without a record, he would no solid evidence that would hold up in court. Also, without Simon saying anything, we'd have nothing. We'd be back at square one.

Finally, after five minutes of deliberation, Gibbs got up from his seat and walked towards the glass. He then signaled to the man controlling the video and audio to shut down, but then put his hand to his ear without Simon seeing him. It was a cryptic message, but suddenly, it dawned on all three of us in the room what it meant.

_Gibbs was telling us to shut off the video, but not the audio!_

Smiling, the man at the controls did what was asked, and then put his right thumb up at Gibbs, as if to say that it was all set. The audio was on, but not the video. Satisfied, Gibbs went back to Simon at the table. Closing the file, he looked at the frightened man, pointing out the lack of red light in the camera in the corner that used to be recording them.

"None of them will be recorded," Gibbs reassured Simon, lying smoothly and without a trace of it. "N.C.I.S. will give you a protection detail when this is over."

"How will I know you will keep your word?" Simon asked, skeptical as he calmed down.

"Well, the camera's off. My boss will easily give you protection for the information you give us. It's vital to this case."

Simon smiled like a predator and sighed. "Well, my very federal agent, every story starts with a simple person wanting something. This one starts in the deep jungles of what used to be South Vietnam, to be precise."

_Oh, dear God, not there…_

Relaxing in his seat, secure that he had his way, Simon continued, without realizing a thing. "One man, newly-married with a son and drafted into the military, was sent to Vietnam as an officer after his training school. Missing his family greatly, he went through his slow military tenure, desperate to get out and go home. Not only that was bothering him, but he needed money to pay his old debts and to keep his family safe. People were after him, even the friendly fire in an enemy camp. So, every single day was torture to him, wondering if he'll ever see his wife and son again.

"Hungry and tired, this soldier finally escaped from his platoon one night, not wanting to be bothered anymore, and wondered the endless jungles of Vietnam. He lived off the land, still thinking of ways to protect his family. However, he was not thinking clearly and forgot his survival training. Eventually wounded in the stomach by enemy fire one night, he dragged himself to a clearing by a river, there by dawn. Hallucinating that he was being beaten by a mob, he yelled for help, knowing that he was dying. There seemed to be nobody in sight, so his plight was hopeless. He was losing blood fast.

"Finally, at the edge of the clearing, there stood another who heard him. He had been following the soldier for some time, knowing about his debts and wanting to make a deal. His name was Marcellin Traver, a Haitian who became a U.S. citizen. Traver had been traveling the world in search of a business partner. His first successful company, Peke Oil, helped millions of people heat their homes. Bored, he handed the company over to his brother. Now, he was in search of more money, a bigger challenge than just making people warm in the winter. Traveling to Vietnam unauthorized, he looked far and wide for disgruntled soldiers, wanting to do his bidding. He found none, until he followed and then found that wounded soldier at the river, the one who urgently wanted to be alive.

"Traver went up to the solider at the river and said only one thing. 'If you join me in Haiti on a crusade for greater riches, I'll give you your life back.'

"Quickly, without realizing the consequences of his actions, the soldier looked up at the angel who was going to say his life for a price. Without knowing what this crusade was all about, he agreed. Losing conscious and about to die, the man nodded for consent again, to assure his life, and closed his eyes. Subsequently, Traver, a man who always keeps his promises, took him to the nearest village for medical help. His own doctor personally attended to the solider, stripping him of his soldierly manners to one of a civilian as he was healed. He miraculously lived. It was thought that he would die."

Simon finally stopped, his spellbound story leaving all of us wanting more. Even Todd, staring so intently at the storyteller, was waving his hand in a circle, urging him to tell more about Traver and the soldier. It all linked up to the Black Crusade, but how it did was the question we all wanted answered.

_And what does Simon have to do with the Black Crusade? What's his purpose?_

"So, who was this soldier who helped Traver on this crusade for more money?" Gibbs asked, also anxious to hear the rest of the story.

"The name of the soldier?" Simon rubbed his clean chin thoughtfully. "Now, let me see…who _was_ that soldier that Traver saved…? Oh, yes, I remember now. It was Henry Austin."

"I see." Gibbs didn't look impressed, but there was a small clue on how Austin and Traver linked up. "Is there anything else you would like to add to that, Simon?"

Simon put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "No, my dear federal agent. Not unless I receive my protective detail will you receive more of the story about the Black Crusade."

"He's gotta be pulling Special Agent Gibbs' leg," Todd commented to me. "I've never seen anyone so relaxed after being discovered."

"We'll see," I replied carefully, also thinking on why Simon was so calm after the beginnings of the Black Crusade were told.

"Done," was all Gibbs said. Then, turning back to us, he added, "Officer Henley, take him away. N.C.I.S. will pick him up later."

"Oops, there's my cue," Todd said as a farewell to me as the lights in the interrogation room started to grow dim. "Meet me for coffee later? There's a place nearby. I get everything in there for free."

"Sure…" I was insecure about having a coffee date with a police officer, albeit a nice one (so far), but I was sure that he knew something that I didn't and wanted a quiet place to talk. "What time?"

"Five, after I get out of here," Todd called out to me before he left.

_Ok, he's been pretty intimate with me…_

And I was still smarting over Keith, too. I didn't really need someone else in my life, especially after the burns I received, but Todd seemed sincere. However, I knew that there was something about him that I can't trust. My gut was telling me something, but I couldn't put my finger on it just yet…

"Lydia!" I heard Gibbs bark from the interrogation room as Todd took Simon away. "Let's go!"

I sighed. _I guess I'm gonna have to persuade him that I need my coffee break._

As if Gibbs read my thoughts, he added, "And don't bring that new tagalong of yours, either!"

Shaking my head as I left the room behind the glass, I sighed again. _This is going to be a long night…_


	20. Coffeehouse Showdown

**I posted a chapter earlier today, so please read that first. Otherwise, this is the next chapter. (ok, DUH!) This has a little more profanity in it, so if I need to change the rating, please inform me. I didn't think it was THAT bad. Otherwise, enjoy. PLEASE review!**

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After a _lot_ of persuading on my part (and Gibbs nodding and reasoning while being slightly annoyed, as always), I managed to head out to meet Todd for coffee for the proposed five o'clock meeting. While I was sure that we were meeting at some fancy place for coffee, Todd directed me to the old Dunkin Donuts on Main Street, Ashbury Park. Walking there from the motel was no problem (a little long), but seeing Todd in his police cruiser was a huge surprise, like he was showing off for me or something.

However, I was sure to be courting trouble if more people saw me with the Ashbury Park police. I was going to be a target, for sure, if Gibbs and I continued to investigate this place.

"How are you, Lydia?" Todd yelled at me as soon as he saw me across the street from the destination.

Jogging to the other side and avoiding traffic (which was light for rush hour), I managed a smile for Todd, despite the deep despair in my heart reserved for Keith and Mara. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Coffee on me?" Todd took my arm into his again and walked me inside, seating me at a table by the window like a perfect gentleman should. He even pushed in my chair, but failed to take my purse.

I didn't answer him until I was seated. "Umm, sure, that sounds good. Large cinnamon, light and sweet."

"On it."

Todd then smiled broadly and headed for the line, making me feel as if he liked me more than I thought. The casual way he wrapped his arms into mine in the interrogation room and then just recently, the way he talks to me in that sweet tone, the random date here…it must have meant something.

Swinging my purse around my chair, I scowled and folded my arms across my chest. I was stubborn enough not have get into another relationship so soon, so was not looking forward to dealing with a puppy.

_Then again, Todd might just be nice. He might have information for me. However, I seriously doubt that he just asked me here to give me information._

"Here it is. A large cinnamon coffee, light and sweet." Todd returned quickly enough with our coffees and some doughnuts for us. "Hey, what's the matter? Why so serious now?"

I wiped the scowl off of my face and unfolded my arms so that I was cheery. "Nothing really. I'm just thinking about a lot of things."

"Is that allowed?" Todd asked, pushing my cup to me and sipping his own. "I thought that was illegal."

I chuckled lightly as I sipped mine. "Oh, you're a funny one. Now, what do you have for me?"

Todd was caught off-guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a doughnut from the box and taking a big bite out of it.

"Well," I replied carefully, "you've asked me out and here I am. You're either like me a lot for someone who's just met me or you've got some information to share on the investigation. Now, which is it?"

"Both!" Todd laughed, crumbs of doughnut tumbling out of his mouth. "Oh, Lydia, you're funny. You're also been out too long. Sure you don't want to hide in some safe place and not be a federal agent?"

"I'm pretty sure. Now, share what you got or I'm leaving and you can screw this little 'date' of ours." I folded my arms up again and started tapping my foot in impatience.

"Ok, ok, you've got me there. Now, about those two cops that know about the warehouse and pointed you in that direction…"

"Yeah?" I stopped tapping my foot, but my arms remained in their position, knowing that Todd was serious when he's done eating a doughnut. And I knew Todd liked his doughnuts.

"Well, the rumors around the station are that they are part of this Black Crusade thing. It's been kicking around for years, but nobody's had the balls to investigate that claim or knew what the hell it was all about. Everybody thought that it was just a running joke."

"Do you have some names?" I pulled out a pen and a notepad from my pocket.

"Yeah, they're Officers Indiana Gaines and Caulfield Dawson."

I snickered, trying not to laugh.

Todd continued, ignoring me. "Everybody here knows that there's something about that little warehouse that was funny. Some keep an open secret and know that it's part of some operation to keep Haitian kids in this country and then kill them off when they hit puberty. Nobody really knew about this Black Crusade thing until just recently, when we got the call from you guys in D.C. We thought that you were joking!"

"Yeah, but what about Officers Gaines and Dawson?"

"Well, Lydia, that's the thing. We _don't_ know. They've been around there and defending the people who work there, whatever it is. Nobody else questions it, since we thought they both knew what's going on in there."

"Ok, so the Black Crusade thing became clearer for you guys when we explained it?"

"That's about it."

I scratched my red head. "Well, otherwise, do you notice any suspicious activity with them?"

"Other than wanting to be with the kids, I've got nothing for you. They like the cases with kids, especially in that Haitian neighborhood. It's like…I don't know. Like they have a special liking for them."

"I guess that comes with the territory," I muttered. "Ok, well, it might be something. I'm gonna have to tell Gibbs."

"Why, you tell your boss everything?"

"Because he _is_ my boss and he's in charge of me. I have to prove to him that I'm worthy of the position that they're offering me. I don't think I'm worthy enough, but it's a good shot."

"_Oh_."

"Yeah, _oh_, you jackass. You know what this means for me, truly?"

"I don't know, since I'm just your friendly, neighborhood police officer. I'm just here to protect and serve the public, wherever they may be." Todd sounded bitter, as if his position wasn't giving him enough and that he wasn't satisfied. The tone said something more than being the disgruntled good guy, but more of a guy who wasn't happy with his job.

My stomach started churning, like something was wrong here.

"Why, what's wrong with being a police officer?" I asked innocently, trying to forget my own misery.

"Oh, you know, checking out disturbances, investigating all sorts of cases, lousy money, people spitting on you, drug cartel…you name it, I have to deal with it, Lydia. It's not a pretty job."

"I'm already well aware of it, Todd. I really am. I just like the adventure and puzzle behind it. I could care less about the danger because I've had worse than that."

"I don't understand you then. We bag and tag. You take this to another level."

"Then, it isn't me who misunderstands how it is to protect and serve, it's you." I was becoming angrier by his pessimism, especially when my gut was telling me something was wrong once more. "We're supposed to give the public some sense of stability and protection. We're supposed to help them feel _safe_ in their own homes, to make sure that they can walk out of their homes without being gunned down or robbed. We're –"

"Hey, hey, I've heard this before, Lydia, and it's not what I wanna hear on a –"

"Don't _give_ me that shit, Todd!" I yelled, causing some people to turn their heads to listen. "Let me finish, because you _obviously_ don't know what it really means to be a police officer. You little _ass_, don't you get that we're here to give people _peace of mind_, something most Americans can't have because of how you guys go and 'protect and serve'?

"And let me tell you, Officer Todd Henley, that I find you disrespectful, not just to me, but to the people in this restaurant. If you can't give these people the right to be safe in their own city, then you don't have the balls to be their good protector. If all you can think about is the money, then I suggest that you go and find yourself another job. So, go fuck yourself and your free coffee and doughnuts!"

Getting up and knocking over my coffee (I could care less about it then) and grabbing my purse, I heard many people whistle and clap for me. I heard many cheers as well, some of them telling me to rant some more to that officer. They all liked a good show apparently.

_I take it that many people are pissed with the police officers here as well. Well, they can audition somebody else to take the part of moral officer. I'm out of here!_

"Lydia, wait!" Todd called behind me as I walked away. "Lydia, don't go! You can't –"

As I walked out, I slammed the door hard behind me, glad to be rid of that piece of garbage.


	21. Playful Banter and Serious Discussions

It was almost seven o'clock when I was brave enough to knock on Gibbs' motel room door. By that time, I had calmed down from my rant at Todd, but was still pissed off at him. However, I had stewed long enough about Todd and wanted some reasoning (even if it was Gibbs and a possible bottle of bourbon) and wanted to appear sane. Also, seeing as how we're supposed to be having a video conference with the other agents in half an hour, I wanted to be professional.

And seriously, I didn't want Tony to know about my disastrous date with Todd Henley. I knew that he could tell that I had one within seconds if I wasn't careful.

"Where have you been?" Gibbs asked as soon as he answered the door. "I need you to figure out this computer thing before I shot it again."

I sighed, noting again on the desk the bullet-sized hole on top of the laptop that Director Shepard had us bring along. I didn't want our nosy neighbors to ask about our gun usage again (and Gibbs touching the laptop without me around), so I replied quickly to Gibbs, to reassure him.

"I got into a fight with our friendly escort from earlier," I said, coming in.

"The puppy dog?"

"Yes. He pissed me off."

"I figured as much. Now, are you going to fix that damned thing or am I shooting it again?"

"What about holding your horses and letting me log in?"

"You're supposed to do that?"

While Gibbs' last response was purely sarcastic, I shot him back his own best facial expression as I hopped into the chair and typed in a screen name and password to get to the desktop. While I figured that I'd try something of his on him, I also thought that it would be funny to try to pick on something my own size for once.

Instead, I didn't expect to get a head slap from Gibbs himself.

I rubbed my head, feeling my face turn redder (and it wasn't just from the heat). "Ow, what was that for?"

"Are you getting me to see Tony, Ziva and McGee?"

"Not yet, but be patient and I will."

After logging in and getting the video camera situated, I hopped onto the programming and signed in, hoping that the three agents would be on the other end. After clicking on the N.C.I.S. screen name to call, I waited unwearyingly. After a few minutes, nobody was answering my calls. I tried again (Gibbs behind me) and waited, only to have a black screen. Then –

"Hey, where have you been?" McGee's face popped up first. "We've been trying to call you for half an hour now."

"I was running late," I confessed. "But, we have –"

Gibbs pushed himself in. "What do you have?" he demanded.

"Well, Keith Bolton was questioned and we've got nothing," Tony explained with glee as he came into view. "Well, I got nothing. Ziva got nowhere but the two of them conversing in Arabic ever so…casually. After a while, when her crazy Mossad interrogation methods came, there was chaos and two people grabbing for power and –"

"Tony," Ziva interrupted, "we just talked about the murders and he's denied everything. You just got talked to him about some sort of games."

"Ahh, Ziva, they were _video_ games, like the Play Station," McGee chimed in.

My face reddened as the three discussed off-topic things. _Poor Keith, that ass of a lug! He never liked government agencies, especially after the Air Force. Even if he did something, he wasn't going to give N.C.I.S. anything. If not…well, he knows how to give them a send-off._

"Do we have anything else on Marcellin Traver?" Gibbs finally boomed, having enough of the small talk. "You said nothing was found in his apartment."

Papers were shuffled and the three argued about what was found, disappearing from view for a minute as they squabbled like siblings. Then, McGee came on, holding up some paperwork in an evidence bag. "Boss, we did do another search on the home, like the Director suggested. When we investigated the bedroom a second time, we found some loose boards on the floor. We pried them up and found these."

McGee held up the evidence, but Gibbs squinted behind me to see, putting on his glasses finally. "What is it, McGee?" he growled.

"The locations of two of three warehouses and the floor plans to it, where the children are sent to be processed and how in each room," Tony announced proudly. "As senior field agent, I bravely went into the danger and – and…"

Tony trailed and then stopped when he saw Gibbs' expression turned from totally emotionless to very irritated.

"Well, Boss," he continued, "McGeek and I here found them and got them out. While N.C.I.S. in L.A. is handling the one in California, the one in Ashbury Park is the only other we have. The D.C. one is still under the radar."

"Give me the address," Gibbs demanded (the millionth time he's been in a dissatisfied mood).

"Well, it's in the Haitian community…" Ziva began.

Sighing and taking off his glasses, Gibbs recited an address from memory, the same warehouse we had been watching since we questioned the residents.

McGee looked at the schematics of the Ashbury Park warehouse. "That's it, Boss! That's the warehouse in Ashbury Park."

"Then, what are we waiting for, Jethro?" Director Shepard popped into view, blocking the other three agents. "I'll send the other three agents up to you. Raid that place. Pick up some extra reinforcements."

"Are we so sure that we should be raiding a place when it could be alerted that they've been attacked?" I asked the Director. "If they're starting out in Haiti, where all the main guys are, then somebody would realize that something's up here and remain on high alert and get us. They're a bigger organization than N.C.I.S. and are able to hide better. We won't be able to find them in Sud."

"N.C.I.S. has been investigating the Sud department in Haiti, since we found out that the murders and the Black Crusade were linked together," the Director informed me playfully, as if she knew something that I didn't and it was tickling her. "Because we've been concentrating on the area where the most children are taken, we've found out the exact location of operation. Since then, we've taken most, if not all, of the men and women involved, civilian, Marine and Navy, and found out more than the Pentagon files could give us. While all of the children have been sent back to their families in that area, we still need to find out who the head of the Black Crusade is. Henry Austin is missing."

"We can't find all the children that have been kidnapped and abused," I pointed out logically, happy that the Black Crusade was slowly starting to shut down.

"No, but there's still a chance that we've stopped one of the largest child sex trades in the world," the Director replied. "We know that one of the main leaders is dead, Marcellin Traver. While the three sorting houses in the United States have limited contact with Haiti, we still have some agents posing as members of the Black Crusade in Haiti. While things remain normal down there for them, we still have time to shut down the satellite stations. The L.A. warehouse has been raided already and its workers arrested and children freed to the proper authorities and then their parents."

"So, when does the Director want the Ashbury Park warehouse raided?" Gibbs asked quite sarcastically.

"If I get McGee, Tony and Ziva up to New Jersey tomorrow afternoon, make it sometime after that," was the response.

"Oh, yay, road trip!" I heard Tony add in with sarcasm, almost as bad as Gibbs'.

"Do we have anything on Seth Austin and Felix Henderson?" Gibbs then inquired, wanting more information and knowing that these two suspects were not off the hook yet.

The Director moved aside so that Ziva, Tony and McGee could answer Gibbs' next question. However, all three of them were silent, not knowing what to say.

"Well?!" Gibbs barked. It made me jump in my seat.

"Well, they're both gone, Boss," Tony said bravely. "We went to visit them in their respective apartments and they're gone. The apartments were cleaned out and all of the furniture and personal belongings have vanished. There isn't even a fingerprint anywhere."

"The smell of bleach was everything," Ziva revealed, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"And ammonia," McGee added.

Both Tony and Ziva looked at McGee, annoyed.

"What?" McGee exclaimed. "I took Agent Lee for company. We found out from the landlord for Felix Henderson's apartment that both ammonia and bleach were mixed together when it was 'cleaned out'. He had to clear out the rest of the tenants. One of them died from inhaling it and it was a small child who was taking a nap.

"Meanwhile, the landlord for Seth Austin's was commenting that bleach was used everywhere, even on the hardwood floors," Ziva said. "It was all destroyed."

"A deadly combination that would literally clean out an apartment," I remarked quietly.

"You took Agent Lee with you?" Tony asked McGee with amazement.

"And there's no trace of them?" Gibbs rubbed his forehead with frustration and ignoring Tony.

"I've been tracking any credit card or bank card usage," McGee replied, also ignoring Tony. "There's nothing so far. They might be paying cash for everything. However, I've been watching the bank accounts of the mystery man in the Black Crusade called 'Randall Stephens', from Buxton, Maine. Originally, we had bank accounts in his name stretching from England to China. However, I just found out that his name is also on another account here in the United States and all of the paperwork matches overseas. In Bangor, Maine, there's a T.D. Bank North account in his name. While there hasn't been any recent activity overseas, there has been here."

"Your point, McGee?"

"Well, Boss, other than there being billions of dollars in this account, it's been cleaned out this morning. One person closed it and we have video surveillance."

"Not much good, though," Ziva pointed out. "The man is wearing a basket cap, has a scarf around his face and is covered from head to foot with clothing."

"That's ball cap, Ziva," Tony said to the Israeli. "_Ball_ cap, not basket cap."

"Whatever!" Ziva shoved Tony out of the sight for a moment before he recovered and came back on screen. "We don't know who the person is."

"But, we have one shot where we can see some of his face," McGee said hopefully. "Abby is running a facial recognition right now, using the Black Crusade files she recently added into her computer. We might have somebody soon."

"Good work," Gibbs butted in before the three could argue about something once more. "Get some sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait, Boss, we've got something from Captain Sullivan –" McGee started as Gibbs moved.

However, before he could listen to McGee or even ask me to log off the computer, Gibbs turned from me and his agents and went to the back of the computer, yanking out the power cord forcefully. Groaning as I watched this, I put my head in my hands and shook it, aware that he just screwed up the computer.

_McGee was going to have to fix it again…_

"Get this damned thing out of here," Gibb said to me. "I don't care how. Just take this to your room and get it out of mine! We have what we need and I don't need something from your father unless he's confessing to murder."

Pulling my head up, I sighed again. "I'm on it, Boss," I only said, knowing that there wasn't anything else I could do.


	22. Assault at the Motel

**Some themes in this chapter may need to be upped in the rating, but I think it's ok at T right now. If you think it needs an M, please message me. Otherwise...please review! I did post another chapter today, so read the previous chapter before this one. Thank you!**

* * *

It was past midnight already. In the darkness of my motel room next to Gibbs, I laid on my bed in nothing but an old, oversized Marines t-shirt, unable to sleep and feeling very much alone. Too many thoughts were running through my head. Too many scenarios were turning into the truth. Friends were turning into asses. I didn't know who to trust right now. Even the elusive Gibbs was a mystery to me. I was unable to decipher that man.

_Felix and Seth are gone, disappeared into thin air. I have nothing about my father who, last I saw, couldn't remember that it's 2006 now. Keith hates my guts and Andrew goes along with him, no matter what happened. Sammy is at Child Services and doesn't have his parents. Jay is in Iraq and not knowing what's going on. Beth and Henrietta have been gone from my life. And, worse of all, Mom and Mara are dead._

Sitting up, I suppressed a sob. I didn't want to mourn my sister, but I had to, _needed_ to. She wouldn't have wanted it, though. She would have wiped away my tears, wanting me to go on, just as I was doing. After all, I was doing my job now, being a help to a federal agency. First, I was the concerned citizen, turning quickly into the intern for N.C.I.S. And I didn't even graduate from college yet…

_Even if we argued in the end, Mara would have forgiven you for everything. She would have wanted you to solve this case and get her murderer._

Ziva, Tony and McGee didn't even talk about how the murder case for my sister was going and I don't think anybody will do that anytime soon, seeing as how I was too close. Hell, for all I know, it might be linked to the Black Crusade and Marines murder case, but I don't know yet. It could have been random. It could have even been Larry, who has many connections to some questionable Italians.

_You know that it isn't, Lyddy. Mara was murdered by the same people who murdered Colonel Henderson and all those other good Marines._

Finally, I let the tears fall. I cried for Mom, Mara and even Keith. I cried for Colonel Henderson, Felix and even Dad. I kept them at bay for so long that soon enough, I was crying for practically everyone that I knew, even myself. I've had so much happen to me in so little time that I didn't know what else to do. I was so confused, with no guiding hand, not even my mother, who was always there for me. I just had to cry.

After a while, after all of my feelings of self-pity and misery were spent on many sobs, I stopped and sniffled. Once everything was all said and done, there was still a case to be solved and that I knew well. Children had to be sent back to their parents alive, despite their past abuses. A few murderers had to be stopped. Marines' lives had been avenged and justice had to be served.

I wiped away the last of the tears and grinned. _Just remember that you are a Marine's daughter and you're tougher than you think._

Suddenly, I heard some muffled voices outside of my motel door. I thought that it was some drunks who were out and about again, but when I heard Todd's voice instead of the usual idiots, my blood froze. I got up and pulled my gun out of the desk drawer, moving faster to the door. Leaning my back against the wall in-between the window and door, I moved the curtains back slightly, seeing Todd and another man just outside of my door.

"Yeah, that crazy bitch and her psychotic boss are here somewhere, Odney," I heard Todd say. "Don't worry about it. We'll get 'em."

"Are you sure that it's a good idea to be messing with a Marine sniper and somebody working for N.C.I.S.?" Odney asked. "I mean, I heard that this Gibbs is –"

"Oh, just shut up and let me find the girl!" Todd interrupted, licking his lips as he thought of something delicious. "She and that agent are up to something and it's more than just solving murders and taking back those kids. You and I know that the Black Crusade cannot and will not be shut down and not just because of these two. You know that I tried pushing suspicion on my co-workers, but I know that it won't work for long. We can't afford anything right now, not even to be stupid"

"So, who is getting who again?"

"I'm getting Lydia Sullivan and you're getting Special Agent Gibbs after I get her. We need to get one at a time, to avoid detection and not wake the other up. If we get one dead, we can easily have a shot at the other. Got it?"

I pushed the curtains back immediately without waiting for Odney's answer, tossing my gun under the bed and picking up the cheap, wooden chair from the desk, pulling it over my head. _Dammit! They're up to something and Gibbs is surely sleeping. Unless…_

As I heard my door get kicked in (a stupid way to keep Gibbs asleep), I backed away with my chair quickly and hit Todd on the head. The chair easily broke into pieces, but it disabled my enemy for a second. Knowing this, I took a piece of what was left of the chair and ran for the wall that both Gibbs and I shared, banging on it loudly and screaming, hoping that he was a light sleeper and heard.

Before I knew, only seconds later, Todd had recovered from his shock, picking up his gun and pocketing it. "Why, you little bitch!"

_Dammit!_ I stopped the banging and screaming, rolling under the bed with ease and picking up my gun. As Todd tried reaching under the bed to grab me, I swung around without thinking and shot at his hand, just nicking his index finger. It made him jump back for a moment, but I had no time to retreat and aim again. He was quicker.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for this!" Todd exclaimed, grabbing me up from under the bed easily and throwing me on the bed, pinning me down as my gun skid away from my grasp. Then, realizing that I had nothing on underneath my shirt, he smiled. "Damn, Lydia, this is going to easier than I realized. Thank God for summers, I always said."

"Get off me, you asshole!" I yelled, trying to reach for that certain object under my pillow, but always missing. My hand was just too far away…

"Not this time," Todd replied as one bloody hand held me down and another unzippered his pants, which showed not just his gun in his pocket, but also a knife. "This time, you aren't going to get away from me. _This time_, you're going to regret the day that you ever joined N.C.I.S. and went after the Black Crusade."

I struggled, still trying to reach for my pillow, but failed and screamed for Gibbs again. Finally, just as Todd pulled my shirt up and started to rape me, I had a free hand and a humiliated mind and body. While he was enjoying his free, unwanted ride, I slid my hand like a snake and reached for my own knife and aimed it well.

Without realizing what I had done, Todd continued to push and shove, only to comprehend too late that I had stabbed him right in the heart and held onto my knife tightly.

Blood rained down on my face as shock registered on Todd's face. When he tried pulling my hand off of the knife, I held on, twisting it deeper into his chest. He would try to talk, to taunt me, to call me names, but nothing came out except bubbles of blood. He would try to push his dick in again, to have that unwanted sex with me, but he didn't have the strength anymore. He was dying and he knew it.

Outside gunshots interrupted Todd's fight for survival, all of which came too close for comfort. When two shots hit him in the back, he stopped his own struggling and froze, his eyes widened and his hands loosening their grip and twitching. Then, as I stopped my chest ministrations, he dropped his whole weight on top of me, dead.

Then, with power that I never knew that I had, I pushed him off of me, to see my savior, Gibbs. While the fiend, Odney, was somehow alive and handcuffed to a pole outside of my room, there was Gibbs, his gun put away and his pajamas (sweats and a N.I.S. t-shirt) slightly covered in blood. His face wanted to show concern, but with somebody nearby, I knew that he couldn't afford that.

All that Gibbs asked was, "Are you all right?"

I didn't have an answer for him really. I was raped and almost killed. I felt like I didn't defend myself well and wasn't up to his expectations. While I figured that I got his attention after my door was kicked in, I knew that I should have disabled Todd longer. Hitting him in the head with a wooden chair didn't last too long.

All I could do was shake my head with consent. _Yes, I was all right. Yes, I was fine. No, I don't need a hospital trip. No, we shouldn't cancel our raid tomorrow. Let's get this show on the road._

Soon enough, red and blue lights showered our two rooms, getting me to go back into my room and dressed in at least shorts. When I came out decently (the blood even wiped from my face), the motel manager, finally aware of the commotion, came out with the police, but when it was explained to him what happened, he offered us new rooms, saying that we didn't have to pay compensation for the damage.

"No, I think we'll be ok in one room," Gibbs said to him. "Lydia, go get your things after the crime scene has been evaluated and get in my room."

"On it when I can, Boss," I only replied as the bloodied t-shirt plastered itself to my chest, waiting ever-so patiently for the crime scene team to investigate their own case and wanting to clear my name immediately.

"Ah, Jesus, ain't that Todd Henley?" one officer asked me as he came out of my motel room after I had been given my orders, white as a sheet. "He was your attacker?"

"Yes, Sir," I said, wishing that I was mute and invisible. "That was Todd Henley of the Ashbury Park police force. He was always Todd Henley, member of the Haitian Black Crusade."


	23. What Did We Miss?

The next afternoon, knowing that Simon's initial requests had been fulfilled, Gibbs asked that he be taken back in for interrogation. This time, though, for more information, we had to agree to watch his family and then bring him back to them in Haiti, full expenses paid. From there, he wanted witness protection for all of them, being put anywhere in the world he can to hide from those from the Black Crusade.

Agreeing (and leaving the audio on and video off again), Gibbs faced Simon in round two of interrogation that hot afternoon. Both had said nothing for an hour, just staring at each other, but then Simon started this time. He didn't want to wait hours to start again.

"Is my family safe?" he asked, sincerely concerned.

"As far as I know, they are," Gibbs replied. "N.C.I.S. is tracking them down now and will bring them to the United States instead of you going to Haiti."

Simon banged his fist against the table and stood up, outraged. "That's not good enough!"

"It's good enough when you're part of a sex trade for children!" Gibbs retorted. "Now, sit down! You said that you more information for us. Spit it up!"

Simon calmed down and sat down, but not without giving Gibbs a distrustful look. "I thought you said that I could go home to Haiti."

"Yes, and my boss and Homeland Security say that you're not going anywhere. N.C.I.S. will look for your family in Haiti and send them up here, where you'll be taken to the Witness Protection Program. So, talk or there is no deal."

For a second, I thought that Simon wouldn't talk. It seemed like the safety of his family came first, but that the information he had was too high of a price. The scales had to be weighed and considered. He has to think about what he would get out of giving this information and what the consequences would be.

"I told you about the soldier who wanted his life back," Simon finally began a few minutes later. "Marcellin Traver had tracked him down in the deep jungles of Vietnam and brought him back to life. Now, though, his debt had to be paid. Henry Austin had to do anything to keep the bargain and to keep his wife and son safe. However, in order to pay Traver back for his life, Austin had to legally be declared dead so that this work can be kept as secret as possible. Austin goes home to his wife and son, there was a risk that he could betray Traver. Better that he forget about them."

"What did I miss?" Tony suddenly asked as he came into the observation room with Ziva and McGee, all of them rubbing their sleepy eyes. "Anything important?"

"Shh, it just started," I warned him, trying to listen, but Simon had stopped, thinking and staring at Gibbs. This gave Tony all the excuse to bother me.

"Oh, so did Miss Lyddy have a date with a psycho again?" Tony asked, probably hearing about it all. "Did you get away with your crimes?"

"So, is that why you're so crouchy?" Ziva asked me.

"It's grouchy, Ziva," McGee corrected, yawning.

"It was declared self-defense," I replied generally. "And after a humiliating night like that, you'd be pretty grouchy, too."

And, quite honestly, I didn't want to talk about it. Yes, me killing Todd Henley was immediately said to be self-defense. However, a trip to the hospital before meeting up at the police station again (no Gibbs thankfully) was mortifying and scary enough. At the same time, though, I remembered that I was a Marine's daughter (despite my hatred for my father) and kept a straight face, forgetting all that I had to feel. I could not betray my feelings of shame and fright.

There was still a case to solve. I could not break now. I had to always remember that always.

McGee, pushing past Tony, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but I didn't need it really. While I appreciated the gesture and even put my own hand on top of his, my eyes remained on Gibbs and Simon, the both of whom were not talking still.

Gibbs, tired of waiting, leaned back and forth in his chair and folded his arms across his chest in an effort for some attention. "Are you going to talk, Simon, or do I need to call off the search for your family?"

"Did we really miss something?" Ziva asked me as she stood next to me, McGee backing away from me finally. "I know that the Director made deals with this man, but what are we getting in return?"

"Stories of the Black Crusade so far," I answered without taking my eyes off the glass, watching as Gibbs stopped his leaning, but not his stubborn stance.

"I heard that Gibbs gave him –" Tony started.

"Shut up, Tony," I groaned.

Luckily, Tony obeyed me, but not without telling me via body expressions that he would get back at me soon enough. Knowing him, though, he would keep that promise.

After a few more minutes of silence on both ends (even Tony shutting up), Simon picked up the story, where he left off. "So, after getting out of Vietnam, Traver introduced Austin to the three warehouses without telling him what it was about. One was in Washington, D.C., another in Los Angeles, California and the last one here in Ashbury Park. All are where a high concentration of Haitians are, to avoid detection, since most of the men and women working for the Black Crusade are Haitian. The odd whites that work there are noticed, but not commented on. If they had business with us, there was a reason.

"Once Austin saw the newly-bought warehouses and saw that any kind of production would be high, he finally asked Traver what this was all about. He was curious, eager to keep his promise. The answer, however, was not what he expected, as Traver told him the truth. Originally, _truthfully_, the Black Crusade was used to take impoverished children from their parents with their consent and send them to a better life in America. They worked with the proper authorities, processed them in these warehouses and, with the paperwork signed, American parents would foster them. The children would be educated, have food in their stomachs and a roof over their head. There was no need to worry about starvation, war and death. They would have a normal life."

"I somehow don't believe that," Ziva commented.

"The Pentagon files would have said something about it," McGee added.

"Seems impossible," I said. "However, we'll see if Simon is telling the truth or not. Remember, we don't have anything before 1995."

"Austin, knowing that the U.S. government under the new president, Nixon, was eager to keep the Haitians happy and their children safe, consented to this new line of work without question," Simon continued. "Immediately, he and Traver worked to hire workers, mostly from Haiti, and they formed a common mission to give children a chance. They focused in Sud, the most poverty-ridden department in Haiti, and moved from there to the other various departments. For about ten years, they rescued children from their homes with parental consent and brought them to a better life."

"Ok, so we have a time frame, from about 1969 to 1980, where they seemed to be good," Tony said.

"If that's true," Ziva reminded him as Simon continued his tale.

"In 1974, I joined the organization and was immediately within the inner circle of Marcellin Traver and Henry Austin," Simon confined. "Next to them was a Marine who was in and out of Vietnam, named Richard Henderson. He had an older brother, Xavier Henderson, who was killed by the Vietcong, so he was out to kill the North Vietnamese Communists and, of course, the Vietcong. While he had a son, Tyler, and a wife, Valerie, Richard had a soft spot for children, so joined the Black Crusade. His other older brother, who he could not save, was also in Vietnam. He was James Henderson, but by then he was a captain commanding a group of enlisted men. He survived the war, but just barely."

My hands started shaking when hearing those names. _It was Felix's family, the brothers who are now dead._

"The three of them were committed to saving those children, I swear," Simon vowed. "However, a government force more powerful than they were changed the face of the Black Crusade and made it out to be the secret child sex trade that it is today."

Gibbs leaned in forward just so. "And who is this government official that changed your so-called good mission?"

"Well, after the government stopped sanctioning and funding the Black Crusade in 1981, we had decided to shut down," Simon revealed. "We were going to stop bringing in the Haitian children, much as we'd love to help them. However, one man decided to keep us, as you Americans call it, 'open for business'. He worked with Oliver North very briefly, but was a military man whose ambitions and desires were one and the same. His name was Saul Waites.

"Waites had heard about the Black Crusade and decided to take it over from Traver and Austin, but took it underground, where nobody could detect us. He took all of us with him, showing us his power to corrupt. When we heard of his new mission to use Haitian children for sex and kill them off, we all refused and wanted to go to the authorities. However, Waites threatened us, wanting to take away our own freedoms so that we could not reveal him. To demonstrate his power, Waites went after the top people. First, after Richard Henderson's second son, Felix, was born in 1979, Waites persuaded Child Protection Services that Henderson was beating on his elder son, Tyler, and molesting his youngest baby. While it was true that he was a little crazy after Vietnam, Henderson would never be as bold as to beat and molest his children, even if his wife told him to.

"In the end, Henderson lost his eldest son and managed to prove that his youngest was not being used sexually. Afterward, he became bitter. The past was now starting to haunt him and, try as he may, he could not leave the Black Crusade under Waites. Tired and angry, he started to abuse his younger son, thinking that he was a young Vietcong member. While he snapped out of his nightmares most of the time, his P.T.S.D. remained. Years later, after his wife died in a car accident, in 1995, when he and a group of Marines, including his older brother, started to investigate the latest activities of the Black Crusade after the young girl came forward to offer information, Waites turned against him. Convinced that he was betrayed and might lose his steady income, he had Richard Henderson killed, leaving his sons orphans and the rest of the group targets.

"Meanwhile, Austin and Traver had their own demons. Soon turning onto their insecurities, Waites had them persuaded that the children of Haiti were now our enemies and that none of them appreciated what was done for them in the past. Unable to leave because of their illegal activities and because Austin had been legally declared dead, both men helped to turn the one proud organization to one of fear, secrecy and hatred. They had taken on the role of leaders along with Waites during the next decade of the group's existence and have helped to terrorize children of Haiti ever since."

"So, what happened to Waites?" Gibbs asked, interested.

"Waites has been dead for many years now," Simon reassured him. "While he gave leadership of the Black Crusade to Henry Austin in 1989, he still remained in power, but at a horrible price. The man had an incurable cancer, dying in 1997. His last words told Austin and Traver to be wary and to keep the Black Crusade a world power. In the end, he still thought of the Black Crusade as his income."

"So, you're telling me that, since 1969 or 1970, the Black Crusade has existed, but has changed when the government stopped helping it?"

"That's right, Special Agent Gibbs."

"Can you tell me anything about the children of these men?"

"I cannot tell you about the Henderson children. All three – Tyler, Felix and Victor – may or may not be involved with the Black Crusade now. Waites did not have any children, but he left behind an estranged wife. However, I know that Henry Austin's son, Seth, is with the Black Crusade. As soon as he found out that his father was alive, he joined him in Haiti, but was denied his dual citizenship. Soon, he found out what was happening and joined."

"And you, Simon? How do you fit into the Black Crusade?"

"I am not trusted, but still a member, not believing in its doctrines anymore," Simon proudly told Gibbs. "Traver and Austin don't trust me as much as they used to, but use me for missions. These missions seem to make me a felon, in trouble with the law. But, I also try to free the children in the warehouses I go, which was what I was going to do when you caught me. Austin and Traver suspect me of it, but they have no proof. They do send their guards in, though, and they kill any people who watch the warehouse. I swear that they also send them in because they want me killed as well."

"Are you aware that Traver is dead?" Gibbs asked him, showing him his hand of cards. "He was a shooter at the Love Nightclub in Washington, D.C. He was killed during his own act of terrorism."

Simon did not flinch or show any sign of emotion. "Then, he can rot in hell for his crimes."

"Wow, he must not like Traver anymore," Tony commented. "It's almost like this movie I saw last week, with –"

"Don't wanna hear it, Tony," McGee interrupted in a warning voice.

"This seems almost unreal," Ziva said. "A good intention paved the road with the bad."

"The expression is, 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions', Ziva," I replied as I leaned in more to watch Gibbs and Simon. "I guess you can say that in this case. Good intentions were the Black Crusade's main mission. Soon, those turned into hell when the good was twisted in with the bad."

I saw that Gibbs was watching Simon intently, studying him. Then, pulling out the pictures of the recent dead Marines from under the table, he asked, "Do you know any of these men or anything about their murders?"

"Captain Sullivan is missing," Simon randomly said.

"Do you know any of these men or anything about their murders?" Gibbs asked again.

From left to right, Simon pointed to each Marine and named them. "Colonel James Henderson, Major Vincent Flanders and Lieutenant Kyle Tellington."

"What do you know about their murders?" Gibbs was becoming irritated, to say the least, and was about to intimidate Simon again when he spoke.

"The work was certainly done by Traver and Austin's men. They're sick, recruited for their lust for little children and the perverted acts they perform on their murder victims."

"Do you know anything else?"

"No, but let me be released to help those children," Simon begged pathetically. "I plead guilty to all things, but at least let me free those little children. They're about to be killed next week, kept in the basement so that nobody could see or hear them. Then, Traver or Austin orders them exterminated."

"If you help us raid that warehouse, we'll consider a better deal for you and your family," Gibbs bargained. "My boss says we can perhaps clear your felon record."

"I'll lead you there and more," Simon promised, looking over Gibbs' shoulder. As if he could see me, he smiled broadly, knowing something more than we could.


	24. Illegal Activity

**I know that I've been on a roll and posting a couple of chapters a day. Again, read the previous chapter. I know that I say this a million times, but sometimes, email notifications show the latest chapter and not the previous, like in gmail.**

* * *

Instead of Gibbs and Simon in this crummy interrogation room, I was in there alone, pacing with my hands behind my back, behaving like I was a caged animal. The doors were locked and I was stuck. With the cameras and audio on, I was being watched. My every move was being recorded for prosperity and it wasn't just for Gibbs' satisfaction.

And yet, something was bothering me about the whole thing and it wasn't Ewenso Simon. I mean, after Gibbs informed me that I was staying at the police station in order to be safe from all harm, I could have cried at the injustice of it and make it bother me for a while. After all, I was no trained N.C.I.S. agent yet, but I had gone so far in this investigation that it didn't seem so fair that I was stuck. It shouldn't have been dangerous to run in and retrieve the children and arrest the Black Crusade members there. It should have been easy.

_Or, is it?_

I knew that I had to help Gibbs and his team. I knew that I had to find my way back to that warehouse and help them. My gut was telling me that something was wrong and there was no need to ignore that. Even before meeting Gibbs, I always listened to it.

As I paced, I thought. _How can I get out of here and help Gibbs?_

Finally, after half an hour of pacing and thinking, I got it. Illegal as it was, I got it.

I looked to the camera in the corner and watched it as I sat down in the same chair that Simon was in just two hours ago. Then, I put my head down on the table, as if I had a headache, and waited patiently for half an hour more, counting the time in my head and double-checking it on occasion with the clock on my right. I had to make them think that I was done with my restless attitude and that I was going to be inactive for once.

When my half hour was about over, I stood up and looked at the camera again, tapping my foot under the table. "I need the bathroom please."

Immediately, one of the nice officers opened the door for me and motioned that I come out. He was going to escort me to the ladies' room, since I knew that no woman was on shift anytime soon here. After all, Gibbs ordered that I was supposed to be watched at all times.

Smiling, I followed him down the hall and down the stairs to the basement, remembering where my weapons were stored (down a few hallways, where the spare weapons were) and where the nearest fire alarm was. I knew that this way I was being led had no camera except in the room where the weapons were, just outside of it and all of the hallways near the cells. However, I did note that the ladies' room was down the same hallway as the fire alarm (the fire alarm was at one end and the ladies' room at the other end).

When we reached my intended destination, I escaped my escort when I entered his forbidden realm. Even if I was supposed to be watched all the time, even a man cannot come in with me to a stall.

"Be right back," I reassured him, running in quickly and sucking in my breath, not believing how disgusting it smelled.

_Oh, well, it's for the greater good._

I took note of my surroundings. On the ceiling, there was a smoke detector, blinking its green light at me, to say that it was working. There was also no camera in this room, due to the federal privacy laws, so it was easy to set a fire in there. However, there was a small window opened on the top left-handed corner, which would suck the flames out of my plan…literally.

I saw a used mop in a bucket of dirty water against the cold white stonewalls along with a cart of janitor stuff. I took the mop and tried reaching the window latch, failing because I was short at five foot four. I ruled out jumping and dragging something over to the window. I didn't want to attract attention from my male escort (he could easily ask a female to go and check on me). I had to do something to reach that window, to keep my fire going.

I heard a knock on the door. "Miss Sullivan, are you still in there?"

_Dammit._ It had been at least five minutes.

"Woman issues," I yelled back quickly, the only excuse I could use for the time being. "Give me a few more minutes to clean up. I'll be done soon!"

That drew my escort away without a reply (I knew that the smell alone could make a man hurl), but that also gave me a few minutes more to get out of the police station and every second counted. I didn't have much time.

_Ok, so I'm an open window and I'm high up. A person below me can't reach to close me. What can be done to avoid that person from getting caught?_

Looking at the corner where the window was, I finally found my answer. One of the stones in the wall was sticking out slightly (it was barely noticeable), which almost seemed like a stepping stool to escape. My feet were big, but if I was fast and held onto the wall steadily, I could easily get the mop up there and close the window. I was a klutz and I knew it, but to try and balance was to save lives, if my gut was right.

_I have to try. Clumsy as I am, I have to do this…for Gibbs and his team._

Slipping off my sandals, I trod to the corner and climbed up carefully, barely balancing on the stone. Then, I quickly reached up with the mop, trying to keep from falling and getting the window latch to catch and close at the same time. Luckily, I succeed, falling on my ass in the process and keeping the mop from hitting the floor in the process.

_There!_ Part one of the plan, which was hard, was completed. Part two was my favorite one: to create chaos.

Within seconds, I was putting the mop away and grabbing onto as many rolls of paper towels and toilet paper that I could grab (which was a lot with ten stalls and two paper towel dispensers). Making a messy pile underneath the smoke detector, I kneeled before the pile, as if worshipping a deity, and reached into my bra, grabbing onto the only weapon that the cops didn't know about: my lighter.

Whispering thanks to Mom for teaching me to carry one at all times, I flicked the switch and set the paper pile on fire, depositing the hot object back into its original spot. Before I knew it, though, the fire caught, spreading with a quickness that I didn't know that it had.

I started counting the seconds before the smoke detector would start sensing the blaze, but it was before I got to three that it turned on. Right then and there, I knew that I had to make a run for it.

~00~

Running and grabbing my forgotten sandals and a can of spray paint off of the janitor's cart, I popped my head out of the ladies' room (able to breathe once more). I noticed that personnel were running in every direction and that my escort was even gone. Some people were carrying important paperwork and others were taking weapons out with them. An odd prisoner or three in handcuffs was being hustled upstairs, since their cells dominated one end of the basement, secure through many doors.

All and all, I was pleased. The number one diversion I had learned from my father was chaos and he was right. However, the fire had yet to be discovered, but I had to be fast in getting out of there and finding Gibbs.

Taking a right out of the door as I put my sandals back on, I stopped at the fire alarm without the security camera on it, seeing it protected by thick glass. Undeterred, I put my elbow through the glass, ignoring the blood and pain that came with it. I pulled it without delay, getting the red lights above me to flash. Then, without thinking, I took a left turn in a rush as I trailed blood. I was running as if for an exit it seemed, but in truth, I was going for my weapons at the other hallway.

Alarms blaring, I took a right and the second left after that before finding the end of the maze. Before entering the room, though, I put my back against the wall, avoiding detection from the security camera outside of it. Inching underneath it, I only had to shake and open the can and to reach my arm up without an aide. Easily enough, I sprayed the camera lens black, knowing that the police could not catch me in my illegal acts, not even pulling the fire alarm.

Next, I crouched down, crawling on the dirty floor and pulling my short over my face so that I was naked from the neck to my waist except for a bra and lighter. Then, I reached up for the doorknob and entered carefully, still crawling on the floor. Through the shirt thinness, I could see where the security camera was, its red light blinking. It was staring right at me.

_Dammit!_ I had seconds before somebody could see this and realize that it was me.

Without thinking (and being rash), I got up (shirt still over my head and my tits showing the camera some action) and took the spray can to the camera lens, blacking out the scene the same way I did to the other one. Looking around quickly with the shirt still on, I saw no other cameras visible. I was safe for now.

I knew where my weapons were stashed, so pulled my shirt down and ran to the lockers on the right. It was locked, so I pulled out the bobby pin holding my red hair back. Again thanking my father for some useful skills, I picked the lock easily enough and found my weapons. I was feeling extremely auspicious, to be honest, as I strapped my knife to the inside of my pants and my gun in my hand, opposite of the spray paint. However, I was about to exit from the scene of the crime when I found Ewenso Simon in front of me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, unaware that I was watching him talk to Gibbs about the Black Crusade earlier.

"I'm off to find the N.C.I.S. team," I confessed, knowing that I could not hide anything from the older man. "What are you doing here? I thought that you were going with them."

"I was a security risk. They left me here because a threat was made on my life. They could find the children without me, they said, but I don't know. I want to personally help."

"Ok, then what are you doing here? Grabbing a weapon?"

Simon pointed to mine. "Well, you are. So, that makes me wonder about you already."

I conceded. "So, are you with me or against me? We can make this easy if we know what we're both admit what we're up to."

"You're supposed to be with them, no?"

"Yes and no, but I was supposed to stay here, to be safe."

Simon smiled, as if he thought of something brilliant and wanted to share. "This means I'm with you, doesn't it?"

I looked to the spray can in one hand and my gun in the other. Sure, I wanted to do this alone because I wasn't the greatest team player. I wasn't a person to share anything, especially costly information and even missions. However, if Simon was heading in the same direction, I didn't see an issue with him giving me a lift. I might need an additional hand in handling Gibbs.

"Have any money on you for a bus?" I finally asked him, taking his arm into mine as I dropped the can of spray paint.


	25. Sacrifice

As soon as we got off the bus and arrived at the warehouse (after introductions and some easy, small talk), Simon and I saw that the doors were wide open and that the streets were deserted. It made me uneasy because it was usually busy, but I knew that Simon and I had to get in there and help Gibbs, Tony, McGee and Ziva. It wasn't just because of my gut feeling, either. Simon knew that nobody really had a chance in there.

However, I didn't know how to go about entering a warehouse that processed Haitian children for a sex trade. I mean, you didn't just walk in there and demand them to hand over the kids and walk away with everything and them nothing. Somebody had to have a plan, which was why I turned to Simon.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked him as we hid behind a dumpster next door, about where Gibbs was the day before. Hell, Simon seemed to have more of them up his sleeve than I did.

"I enter with you as a hostage," he answered. "You may be stuck in a room by yourself for a while, but it'll give me time to get the children out by myself. I can come back for you and the N.C.I.S. agents. From there, he place can easily be blown up."

"What?!" I exclaimed. "Are you joking? I thought that we were avoiding the whole 'Get the police here' scenario. It's enough that I started a fire in the ladies' bathroom. Then, it'd be known that I did something stupid."

"Well, do you have any other plan, Lydia?"

I was silent. I didn't have anything.

"I thought so." Simon batted at my nose playfully. "Now, hand me your weapons, any and all that are visible. You can keep your knife and lighter with you."

My eyes widened.

"I saw you with your shirt up in that room," Simon confessed. "I saw the lighter in your bra. I also saw the outline of a knife on you after we left."

"What, have a good time seeing someone else's tits for once?" I asked jokingly.

Simon waved his hand in disinterest. "I have no time for that, especially with one so beautiful, just like my wife. Now, give me your weapons."

Hesitating, I handed over my gun, knowing that all other weapons were out of the visible eye. Obeying him in all other things, I left my lighter and knife with me.

"Ready?" Simon then asked me, aware that I was shaking, scared that I was heading into danger once more.

I sighed, putting my hands behind my head as if caught by the wrong person already. "Well, I'm a prisoner. I'm heading into the web of deception once more. How do you think I feel?"

"You're about ready," Simon replied with that twinkle in his brown eyes, taking my own gun and pointing me in the back with it. Hands still in the air, I walked forward and towards the doors that led into the warehouse.

Except, of course, there was something weird about inside the warehouse. While the large, main room was deserted eerily, the sounds of children screaming under my feet were audible, but very far away. The hallways to my left and right were empty save for a guard with his gun. N.C.I.S. agents were also nowhere to be seen (even the reinforcements Gibbs was promised), which was giving me chills up my spine.

Simon barked something in French to the guard, who came over with his large gun. I just understood the basics of it (only knowing Spanish, Russian and German fluently), but could hardly keep up with the two conversing. All I knew was that Simon asked his companion where he could put me, the agent-in-training that was caught snooping around once more. The guard only smiled and laughed, saying something to the effect that there was plenty of room below us. After all, the children were going to die soon anyway.

_Jesus, how offhand can you get?_

For my benefit, Simon said in English, "I do want to put the girl with the children. So, where are the children being held? Is it the basement or the room below the delousing station?"

The guard scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he replied honestly in English. "You can ask Jack in the interview room. He's doing some paperwork right now, so it's ok to bother him."

I didn't like the feeling of this at all. I wanted to tell Simon that going to this Jack person was going into danger, but he was pushing me towards this interview room with my gun behind my back still. After all, I was still the hostage and he was the captor.

Down the deserted hallway Simon and I went until we reached a doorway. Knocking, Simon was given permission (said in French) to come in. Then, we entered a large chamber of some sort, complete with warehouse piping and damp walls to make it feel right at home. The desk at the end in the center didn't even give the room a homey feel to it, either.

"Yes? What is it, Simon?" the person named Jack asked as he pressed a red button on his desk.

Simon pushed me forward, causing me to land on my knees. "Sir, I've found this girl. She was watching our building across the street. She claims to be N.C.I.S. and nothing else. There's no identity on her."

Jack raised an eyebrow as a hidden door to his left and behind him opened, revealing another guard and Ziva.

"Really, Simon?" Jack asked as he folded his hands. "Really now? You see, we've already caught some N.C.I.S. hacks already. Most of our staff has somehow…mysterious vanished. Maybe this girl can tell us where the hell they are?"

"Don't do it, Lydia, it's a trap!" Ziva yelled before her guard tried choking her with overly large hands. In response, Ziva (in her usual Mossad assassin style) elbowed back hard. When that didn't work (all muscle behind that lug), she kicked back, finally freeing herself and disabling the guard for a moment.

With one agent freed, Simon finally revealed his intentions as Ziva joined us in front of Jack.

"So, Austin and Traver were right," Jack said, standing up and brandishing his own gun. "Well done, Simon, well done. I guess you can deal with the children after I set this place ablaze."

A second later, Jack raised his gun to aim and shot, but the three of us ducked and rolled as he shot numerous times, frustrated (and obviously without a lesson in shooting). Then, frustrated, Jack came up from around his desk and whistled, calling not just the guard who brought Ziva out, but two more goons with guns.

"Take care of them," Jack ordered them, walking and disappearing in the doorway. "I'll take care of the other agents."

Things One through Three all smiled. The one that held Ziva grinned the largest, pointing out the Mossad agent in particular. "That one's mine. Nobody get her."

"I'm not anybody's," Ziva replied, quickly taking out her knife from a hidden spot in her pant leg and aiming for the forehead, hitting her would-be attacker true. Then, facing our other attackers as Thing One fell, she asked. "Now, would you care to try?"

The two of them, unafraid of Ziva and what she could do to them, only snickered. "That's just beginners' luck," Thing Two said. "Wanna try a second time?"

"Yeah, I would." I grinned back at them, taking out my own knife and aiming just like Ziva did. While mine whistled past Thing Two (still taunting us), it hit the other guard right in the arm.

Cursing under his breath, the wounded Thing Three raised his gun to me. "Oh, you're gonna pay," he threatened before Simon shot him and then his friend in the forehead with speed.

Knowing that they all were dead, Simon went over and picked up both knives from the victims, cleaned them with the guards' shirts and handed them back to me and Ziva. As we put them away, he said, "There's no time. N.C.I.S. may have most of the workers out of here, but Jack has only to push one button and he can blow this place up."

"I'll get Tony, Gibbs and McGee," Ziva volunteered. "I can take care of them. You two get the children out of here. You are right. We don't have time."

Agreeing, we all parted. Simon then took me by the arm and ran with me out of the room and down the hallway we came from. Stopping for only a second to listen to the sound of screaming children, he turned left and then right, leading me into the maze that was the Ashbury Park warehouse. Although I didn't have time to contemplate the agony that existed within these walls, I only saw enough to make me want to puke for a while and it wasn't just the dead, rotting bodies of children that got to me.

Finally, Simon found a stairwell at the other end of the warehouse, where the noise was the loudest. Sighing with relief, he let me go, jumping up and down on the wooden floor. I was confused, but was encouraged by Simon to do the same.

"They'll know somebody is here for them," he explained as he stopped. "They'll yell louder. We'll know for sure that it's them."

"Instead of creepy footsteps?" I asked, ignoring the order to jump.

"Exactly." Stopping, Simon was reassured that this was where the children were. Satisfied, he went down the stairs and picked the lock without asking for help. Before I knew it, the door was opened and I was hearing the sounds of children screaming in relief. Little stomps came up the stairs.

"Go, go, go!" I yelled as I saw each and every one come up, motioning that all of them leave quickly. When I tried looking at each, all I saw was abused children. None of them seemed older than ten. All of them, though, were malnourished and had been beaten at some time.

In Spanish (and I guess in French), Simon added and repeated (probably without brooding over the children), "Go! Get out of here quickly!"

It took a few minutes for the crowds to disperse, but when the last of the children were freed, Simon came up the stairs, relieved. He was then about to say something to me when the floor underneath us shook suddenly and violently. We both collapsed on top of each other (eventually, me on top of Simon), unable to move.

"The explosives are detonating earlier than I expected," Simon said, pushing me off of him and then pulling me back up as he stood up. "Come on. You have to go."

"What do you mean, I have to go?" I asked, confused once more as Simon took me down the stairs into the dimly lit room where the children once were. Smelly and slimy, the room seemed like no safe place to me to take cover from the explosion about to happen.

Simon took me to the end of the room (helping me step over human waste and garbage), where he pushed aside an end table and rug and easily picked up a trapdoor. Below, there was nothing but darkness and fear, a small space. Above, there was always the unknown called death.

Without thinking (or so I thought), Simon pushed me into the small space. While the fall down was no problem, it was the space in which he stuck me in, which was tinier than I thought. I could barely stand up and there was barely any air left to breathe in. However, if I crawled to the end, there was an entranceway, a tunnel of some sort with some light at the sides.

Simon saw that my eyes were already trained on the next doorway. "Go that way," he said as he threw down a piece of paper for me. "Save yourself. There's only room for one person down there. I'll only take up the rest of the air."

I picked up the piece of paper he threw down. "What's this?"

"Something you'll need to find the last warehouse," Simon replied urgently. "Now, go. You'll be safe down there. It's already been proven to protect a person against bombs. Go!"

Above, the door was shut closed and surely, the rug and table put back on top of me. I was safe from the bombs as Simon sacrificed himself to, for sure. He knew that there was no time. One of us had to stop the Black Crusade from continuing its mission of misery and Simon knew that it had to be me. His life had already been forfeited.


	26. A Victim of a Different Kind

Dazed and confused, I sat in the Director's office about a hellish day later, the sunshine making me squint. After all, some questions needed to be answered. A bomb had exploded a random warehouse in the middle of the Haitian community, killing at least twenty people, most of them bystanders and some of them employees of said warehouse. Many people were injured. Even the N.C.I.S. team sent in there to raid it was slightly injured by the experience, but survived. And yet…yet…a lone intern from N.C.I.S. escaped underground, almost unharmed (well, except for a few head slaps from Tony and Gibbs) and holding an old piece of paper, supposedly containing more evidence on the Black Crusade and their final warehouse in Washington, D.C.

Of course, I knew that the Director wasn't blaming me for anything, even for Simon pushing me into the bomb proof (if I can all it that) tunnel system. She said so herself, adding that she would have done the same thing, especially if her gut was bothering her. It didn't matter how illegal her escape was or if put herself in danger, she would have gone out to find Gibbs.

"Even if Gibbs asked you to stay put?" I asked her, anxiously waiting for Gibbs to come in and yell at me some more, as was mentioned when I was summoned to the office.

"Even if he did," the Director reassured me, frankness lining her green eyes.

And I guess that's all the Director's been doing, reassuring me all this time. After telling me that Mara's death had been linked to the Black Crusade (Abby finding fingerprints on the Director's walls matching an unknown person from the Pentagon file), she had been sympathetic. She talked to me about taking some time off, but I shook my head no. She talked about my career goals and dreams, but all I could do was listen. I could tell that she knew more about me than what was necessary, but talking about my future seemed to be the only thing we could tread on without my tears coming down about anything: murder, rape and torture.

"You're still a part of this family, more so than before," the Director said to me after telling me of the many possibilities and places she was planning for me to go to, seeing that I was worried about my place in N.C.I.S. going up in smoke. "No agent without a grain of salt would go after Gibbs and his team. No agent without much training would dare disobey Gibbs and run off into a warehouse about to explode. You seem to be one of the braver ones."

"It makes me feel a little guilty," I admitted freely.

"Well, it is better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission," the Director seemed to remind me, although where that came from, I didn't know.

"What does that mean?"

The Director raised an eyebrow. "Rule number eighteen."

"When am I going to learn all of these rules everybody here follows mostly?"

"Whenever I get to them," Gibbs brusquely said to me as he entered the office abruptly. "Now, let's get down to business."

The Director winked at me, to keep on reassuring me, and kept her professional stance in check, much as she was annoyed that Gibbs got past her secretary again. "So, Jethro, have the two men, Seth Austin and Felix Henderson, been found?"

"Not yet," Gibbs answered, annoyed. "We don't know where they are. And that's not good enough."

"We know that Seth Austin is with the Black Crusade," I offered, taking out the paper Simon gave to me out and standing up. "Ewenso Simon even gave me this, which is –"

"Which is what?" Gibbs turned to face me, barking. "What do you have?"

"I told you on the plane that Simon gave me this piece of paper and –"

Gibbs immediately snatched the paper out of my hands, unfolding the old wrinkles and looking at it. "What did Simon say it was?" he asked me slowly, _nicer_, when his eyes glanced at it without glasses.

"He said that it was the Washington, D.C. warehouse," I replied, feeling proud for avoiding another yelling fest with Gibbs (Ashbury Park and on the plane, it wasn't good). "He didn't give me an address, but the floor plans. There's also a place where it self-detonates"

Director Shepard got up from her desk and walked around it, also wanting to see the paper. "It looks like it is underground," she commented. "But, where could it be?"

"Construction site?" I threw out.

"It could also be an old factory or business," Director Shepard suggested.

"Either way, we need to find out where this is," Gibbs said, determined. Then, folding the paper back up and throwing it back at me, he added, "Take that to Abby and McGee. Have them go through every city plan and track this place down."

"Anything else, Boss?" I asked sarcastically, aware that the Director covering her snickering misdeed before Gibbs caught her.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, annoyed. "Don't you _dare_ disobey orders again or I'll kick your ass. Do you understand?"

"I have been listening since you've been caught me behind the scene of the crime, crawling out from the sewers," I replied hotly, acid dripping from my tongue. "I don't know how many times you need to remind me of it."

"I don't know how many times I need to tell you to stay put." Gibbs threw his famous scowl at me, but I ignored it.

"My gut was telling me differently." I crossed my arms stubbornly. "What would have happened if Simon and I didn't come after your reinforcements and the Black Crusade workers left? You would have been stuck in that building and died. Simon's former boss was going to blow it up anyway. You, McGee, Tony, Ziva and all those children would have died."

"You don't focus on things that could have happened. You focus on the present."

"I thought being an agent was considering all possibilities and acting when you know what's in front of you."

"I think we need to get this floor plan down to Abby," Director Shepard interrupted, gently taking the paper from me and giving it to Gibbs. "Why don't _you_ take this to Abby? Let me talk to our intern before she has to run off again. I do have things for her to do."

Gibbs grudgingly agreed (knowing that the Director having things for me to do was a lie), not trying to fight this time. It was strange that he conceded to the Director, but he did, leaving with the evidence. It was just the same way he entered. And when he exited, he didn't even close the door.

Instead, Director Shepard closed the door behind Gibbs and motioned that I sit down again. "He's worried about you, you know that?"

"I'm not his daughter," I tartly replied as I did, still annoyed. "He's not my keeper with a key."

The Director walked over and sat back down at her desk. "You look too much like his daughter. When your father stopped by yesterday, wondering about you, he did mention that Gibbs' first wife was very distantly related to his wife, your mother."

My ears perked up and my curiosity was piqued. "Wait…my father's out of the hospital? How is he? And what do you mean, Gibbs' first wife?"

The Director laughed, answering my questions in order. "Your father was escorted here by a nurse and was pushed around in a wheelchair. He's fine mostly, but has to be evaluated still. In his spare time, he's been researching about Gibbs and found out more him and about his four wives."

"Four wives?" I mouthed.

"Yes, Gibbs had four wives and a daughter. The last three, he divorced. The first, Shannon, was killed with their daughter, Kelly, while he was overseas."

My heart fell, now realizing the sadness Gibbs briefly showed me a few times already. "Oh, my God…"

"So, if he acts nasty and slaps you in the back of the head, don't take it to heart," the Director said. "He does love everyone here, in his own way. We are the only family he has left."

"And you're making me a part of this family?" I asked, again curious.

"You _are_ a part of this family," the Director corrected. "Before we even met you, we've been considering new agents for N.C.I.S. We've lost too many that we needed new blood and not just Ziva. It was coincidence almost, I think, that we recruited you for this case. You may have been the witness to a dead body, but you were also a candidate for this agency for a long time now. Your school records were looked into first. Next was your psychological records. Although they weren't perfect, you still were capable of being an agent. Only one thing bothered me, though."

"Other than we're not supposed to believe in coincidences?" I asked her, remembering what McGee had said in what seemed like days before.

Director Shepard was taken back for a moment and she showed it. "No, we're not supposed to believe in coincidences. However, the one thing that bothered me was your reaction to your mother's death last year. Was it purely shock because you discovered her body or is there something about your career choice that you don't like?"

I was surprised by the question in turn, but not by much. Everybody wondered what made me twitch every time I thought about Mom and how I found her dead, but I couldn't tell them how, not even Mara and Jay. They also wondered the same about my career choice, wondering how strong I really am. Granted, I hated the police. However, to help change the system instead of complaining about it was the best bet I had and they knew it. I wanted to be the change in this world and start where I hated.

"I'm aware that my career choice is a little more than unique," I began honestly. "However, Director Shepard, discovering my mother dead was something different than that. To understand this, you had to understand her and then our relationship."

I then cleared my throat, trying not to let the tears fall as the bittersweet memories flooded me. "Ma'am, my mother was my life. She was my support system, the one person that held me together. Even though she herself was nuts, she had a life form all to herself. She had strength and endurance. She put her children first, but her marriage to my father was also something totally different from us.

"You see, Director, although Mom was originally from a happy family situated in northern Maine, she was a victim of Kent State, but in a different way. Professor MacNara, Colonel Henderson and Dad had known her in those days. Professor MacNara said that she was a bookish person, preferring to study her major, music theory, and smoke pot than to date. She couldn't even date my father yet, who she met while he was on leave. She was very shy. She had few friends and the ones that she had she kept she was close to, especially one, Sandra Lee Scheuer. The two of them were both against the war in Vietnam at the time, but would not join the campus protests because of the violence.

"On May 4, 1970, Mom and Sandra were walking to class together, aware of the turmoil already boiling up on campus. Mom's minor had been speech therapy, just in case musical theory didn't catch on, so the two had a common interest and could easily study together. So, after their noontime lunch, the two decided to run for it, since the protests had been vicious and the Ohio State National Guard had been called in. A mutual friend, Tom Grace, joined them to go to class, wanting to be there in just case something happened while the National Guard was around.

"At about twelve-thirty, when the National Guard was ordered to shoot after declaring martial law per order of Governor Rhodes, Mom heard the shots and ducked back in the doorway, narrowly getting shot in the head. Tom Grace was hit in the ankle. However, Sandra was hit in the throat. Tom Grace, still on the ground and covering his head, called Mom over, yelling that Sandra had been hit. She came, but she could nothing for Sandra. She died in Mom's arms about five minutes later from a loss of blood."

The sad story only made me think of one song, which described Mom and Tom Grace so well, the two most disturbed by Sandra's death.

_What if you knew her,  
And found her dead on the ground?  
How can you run when you know?_

"That one incident destroyed my mother's life," I continued. "It wasn't just that her friend died in her arms, but that three others, two that she knew, were also dead. Political turmoil had made her frightened of her own shadow, knowing that even college students could be shot for just protesting. From then on, she could not deal with school and with people. She locked herself up for two years at her parents' farmhouse in Connor, Maine. She would let nobody in except for the same few people in her life and even then, when my father proposed to her, she was not there. She was almost like a ghost herself.

"Eventually, the shock wore off of her a little, but the haunted eyes remained, even up to the day she died. She returned to school finally, finishing her degree in music theory and speech therapy at Ohio State in 1974. A year later, she married my father, unable to find a job. Jay was born a year after that, followed by Mara the following year. I was born in 1983.

"In the years following Kent State, Mom had been searching for one person to unload herself upon, but to protect at the same time. When my father started beating on us kids, me especially since I was the unwanted child, she took me under her wings. I was the most like her, in both temperament and appearance. I was the one child with a deep understanding of the world, more so than Jay and Mara, and could comfort her when she told me most of the horrible truth, except not saying when, where and how. Because of this attachment, though, she took me and made me _her_ child, acting as if I was the only one.

"The years flew by. With each passing one, though, Mom grew more attached to me, but she never knew of the deep depression I shared with her. I was the child most beaten upon, so I was the most prone to jumping off of bridges and saying that I fell down the stairs when I didn't. However, when all else failed, Mom was there, sharing and teaching. She shared all of her sorrows, drinks and pot with me for several years. She took me to parties to forget my own troubles. She and I sang and danced in her room to music, where she taught me of social, political and personal change. We were almost inseparable, identical sisters in every sense of the word. She was the one to encourage and I was the one to listen and vice versa. We kept each others' secrets even, mine especially, because I was the one who needed a life. She pushed me to school and the career that I'm majoring in now because of the change I wanted to see.

"Eventually, though, all of the secrets, drugs and lessons in the world could not keep Mom from herself. That was her own secret, that she could not control her addictions and obsessions. Her main one was death, one that she passed onto me. It was a puzzle to her as well as it is to me, but one that she would experience once perhaps, so she put herself in front of the dangling carrot to see if she could take it and then come back maybe. She wanted to taste it, even once, but to do so would leave me behind. That would have been her one regret.

"At the same time, though, Mom was tired. She was tired of her life dragging on and her career never picking up. She was tired of being a housewife and watching her children get eaten alive by the world. She could do nothing but watch and cry and remember. She was worsening with each year. Finally, about this time last year, she had enough. She was taking the carrot. She was going to die and to squash that one regret she had."

"Leaving you and your siblings," Director Shepard said softly.

"Right," I replied, knowing that half of it was the truth. "Drunk, high and depressed, she found some rope in the shed behind the house. Without my father not home to stop her and my brother in basic training and my sister out of the house often, she could have done what she pleased. So, she tied it into a noose. She brought it back inside, to her room. She stripped, standing on her bed naked. She hung on end of the rope on her light fixture above her bed and the other around her neck. Then, she jumped off, dangling. She was dead when I found her."

The Director's eyes started to turn red, as if she had been crying when I told the story and I had not noticed. "So, you found her," she stated, her voice thick and shaky.

"Yes," I replied, letting out some air. "Yes, I did. I didn't know what to do. I shook her, I cut her body down. I tried waking her up, but she wouldn't. She was dead. And that was how I was found by Mara, who came home and heard me crying and screaming loudly. I was crying and screaming on my mother's naked body."

"And this made you continue your career?"

"I wanted to find out the whole truth and not just what Mom told me. The day I did, though, was the day she died. From then on out, after the funeral, I grew stronger. I had to finish what she encouraged me to do and help others find closure, even though I could not it for the longest time."

"And today?" The Director asked me, trying to search my own eyes.

"Today," I mused, rubbing my chin. "Today, I find closure in my mother's death, even after a year, but one song will always haunt me. To be an N.C.I.S. agent, I will always help family and friends remember the fondest memories of their lost one if it comes down to that, but I will never want them to go through the same thing I did, to remember by one little song."


	27. Driving With One Headlight

The summer light-polluted evening stars and moon illuminated the parking park behind the N.C.I.S. building. Tony was supposed to be watching out for me as I paused in the night air, but I didn't care. I was standing by my car, waiting for Gibbs to finish his reports and come out to take him to his place (still grunting and growling at me), so I was a little more than bored. Without thinking even, I climbed up my car, sitting on the hard roof and feeling insignificant under the skies.

_It was better in Connor, where Mom's hideaway house is. Maine is a pretty place and the stars up there beat this any day._

From there, all I could think of was Mom, who I just told the Director about an hour before. Then, there was that one song, the one me, Jay and Mara put to disk with the pictures of Mom's funeral (which she wanted done, according to her will that I didn't know she had until she died). People, principles and even rules became lost in my mind, lost amongst the stars that I stared up at.

_So long ago,  
I don't remember when  
That's when they say  
I lost my only friend  
Well, they said she died  
Easy of a broken heart disease  
As I listened through the cemetery trees_

_I seen the sun comin' up_  
_At the funeral at dawn_  
_The long broken arm of human law_  
_Now it always seemed such a waste,_  
_She always had a pretty face_  
_So I wondered how_  
_She hung around this place_

_Hey, come on try a little_  
_Nothing is forever_  
_There's got to be something_  
_Better than in the middle_  
_Me and Cinderella,_  
_We put it all together_  
_We can drive it home_  
_With one headlight_

_She said it's cold_  
_It feels like Independence Day_  
_And I can't break away from this parade_  
_But, there's got to be an opening_  
_Somewhere here in front of me_  
_Through this maze of ugliness and gree_d

_I seen the sun up ahead  
At the county line bridge  
Sayin' all there's good  
And nothingness is dead  
We'll run until she's out of breath,  
She ran until there's nothin' left  
She hit the end,  
It's just her window ledge_

_Hey, come on try a little_  
_Nothing is forever_  
_There's got to be something_  
_Better than in the middle_  
_Me and Cinderella,_  
_We put it all together_  
_We can drive it home_  
_With one headlight_

_Well this place is old_  
_It feels just like a beat up truck_  
_I turn the engine,_  
_But the engine doesn't turn_  
_Well, it smells of cheap wine and cigarettes_  
_This place is always such a mess_  
_Sometimes I think_  
_I'd like to watch it burn_

_I'm so alone  
And I feel just like somebody else  
Man, I ain't changed,  
But I know I ain't the same  
But, somewhere here  
In-between the city walls of dyin' dreams  
I think her death, it must be killin' me_

_Hey, come on try a little  
Nothing is forever  
There's got to be something  
Better than in the middle  
Me and Cinderella,  
We put it all together  
We can drive it home  
With one headlight_

"Might I join a lady on top of her car this evening?"

Interrupted from all of my thoughts of dead ideals and people, I looked down below to the Scottish accented voice. It was Doctor Mallard, who Gibbs called "Ducky".

"Please do." I threw my hand down, to help him climb up the trunk and to the roof. While it took some effort to pull Ducky up, we did manage to sit side-by-side on the roof and stare up at stars a few minutes later.

"I thought Tony was supposed to be with you, my dear," Ducky wondered after a few minutes of silent stargazing later, out loud speaking his concerns.

"Well," I replied as I rubbed my still red, raw face healing, "I told him that if I could beat him at his own game, then I could be at my car alone and take care of myself. I was tired of being watched all the time. Being down in that tunnel escaping from crazy guys killing children and heroes in disguise was better than having a protective leash on me."

Ducky ignored my complaints about being watched constantly. "Did you happen to win that movie trivia game he likes?"

I was amazed. "How did you know?"

"He always wanted to show off his knowledge of movies. After Abby beat his score, he's been wanting to take the top tier, as it were. It's his favorite game. To challenge and be the best between him and you would have helped with his ego. However, I believe you just humiliated him once more."

"And I beat Abby's score, too," I related proudly.

Ducky laughed. "My, that must have put another kink in Tony's ego."

"And Abby was a little upset. She anticipated being Queen of Movie Trivia for a while, too, it seemed."

Ducky laughed again. It was so contagious that I had to laugh along with him. Even the stars twinkled, as if to do the same with us.

Easing down to silence once more, Ducky and I stared and smiled at each other, not knowing what else to say to the other. Most certainly, I could discuss the case with him, since I was also on it. I could see what else he knew, just as I did with Ziva, the same night Mara was killed. However…

"I don't know anymore," I blurted out suddenly. "This case has been too easy from the start. We have motive, gun slugs and an organization practically in chains. N.C.I.S. has taken control of one of the biggest child sex trade groups in the world. Yet, we can't figure out who murdered three Marines, possibly a fourth in 1995, and find two men, one of them definitely connected to the Black Crusade."

Ducky put a hand on my shoulder. "Gibbs has said the same thing. His gut is telling him something is wrong."

"L.A. and Ashbury Park are closed, the latter a smoldering wreck. Haiti's main headquarters is now headed by N.C.I.S. The Black Crusade killed three Marines, it seemed…but, why now? The group was investigated in 1995 after the girl came forward the members tired, but one was killed, Felix Henderson's father, Richard Henderson. It's been eleven years, eleven years of silence. Then, Colonel Henderson was killed, followed by Major Flanders and Lieutenant Tellington. My father is only man remaining and he's at the V.A. Hospital, on security twenty-four seven."

"Maybe the Marines didn't seem like a threat in 1995?" Ducky suggested. "Is it possible that the leader of this organization thought that the Marines investigating was a joke of some sort? Gibbs did say that one of them was a member and he was stuck, but for him to investigate it might have seemed a little silly."

"Perhaps," I mused. "Somebody found out something more recently and the killings began again, one after another. Maybe Colonel Henderson peeked into the file again and the Black Crusade went on high alert again. It's possible that he also added something and we can't find it, but they can."

"A second investigation would have made them more alert," Ducky agreed. "However, why the gross display of disgust for the deceased?"

"And why was there no D.N.A. match anywhere, even in the Black Crusade files, even if the two men we're looking for have records, Felix Henderson especially?"

"You sound like you don't trust your friend to do some horrendous thing, Lydia."

I sighed, seeing that Ducky could tell what was in my voice already. "No, I believe in innocent until proven guilty. However, the facts still remain, even if we're all driving with one headlight here. Felix hasn't organized his uncle's military funeral yet. He's been hanging out with Seth Austin and they're lovers. The shooting at the Love happened. I went to New Jersey and he disappeared who knows where. And here we are, stuck on square one. And still, the question is, who murdered three Marines?"

"Well, to trust yourself and your gut would mean to open your options," Ducky said. "If Felix Henderson is guilty, then you have to trust that. You trust Gibbs, don't you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"To trust Gibbs and his gut means that you can trust that he might go after the people you love in order to finish this case and find justice. He brought in your boyfriend, remember?"

"Now ex," I replied bitterly.

"Regardless, you love him, right?"

I nodded.

"And your father? Do you love him?"

"I guess in a way, yes. I do."

"Despite that love, would you put your personal feelings aside and not become too involved, to distance yourself? Would you trust that people might do awful things, even Felix Henderson?"

I couldn't say anything. I was flabbergasted by Ducky's words…and already seeing a rule of Gibbs' in there. They seemed to be everywhere.

"You do have problems with trust," Ducky continued, patting my back. "However, I can see where it came from. At the same time, my dear, it's a little unwise to hold up a vision of an innocent person when they might not be. Consider the possibilities."

"And if they were and I was right?" I asked.

"Then, Gibbs might be wrong," Ducky replied. "However, he's rarely wrong."

"Ok, we can consider that there's almost nothing on Seth Austin on that Pentagon file," I said. "However, it can't be coincidence that Felix is with Seth. Either he's totally ignorant and innocent or he knows something about Seth and the Black Crusade. He can't be in the middle."

Ducky patted my back again. "Now, you're thinking like Gibbs."

"Who's thinking like me, Duck?" Gibbs asked as he stood next to my car on the passenger side (and possibly listening in on the whole tête-à-tête).

"Oh, I'm just having a conversation with our upcoming, bright agent, Jethro," Ducky replied slickly, carefully climbing off of my car roof carefully.

"Were you up there because she's alone and DiNozzio's not here?" Gibbs asked angrily.

"It was my fault," I admitted, also slipping down from my car roof. "I was challenged by Tony to his favorite game and in order to be by myself, I had to win. I won the bet. I'm here now."

"You know that's dangerous right now," Gibbs pointed out.

"Considering that we don't know that –" I started.

"With your sister on a cold slab, shouldn't we know by now that you are being followed?" Gibbs interrupted.

I gulped. I almost forgot about Mara being in Autopsy, but then again…I wanted to forget a lot of things on this night. I wanted to put my blinders on and forget what was around me, but I couldn't. To do so was still driving blindly and without trust, just as Ducky had pointed out.

"Let's go home," Gibbs only added, clicking the passenger handle up a few times before realizing that it was locked.

I agreed, taking my keys out of my pocket and unlocking the car with a press of a button. Then, I turned around and was about to say goodbye to Ducky, but he was already gone, walking to his own antique car nearby.

I sighed, getting into my car myself. _Not only will this be a long night, but I'm going to be in for it. Gibbs won't let me forget anything._


	28. Felix's Early Morning Call

At about two in the morning, I woke up in Gibbs' guest bedroom, sweating in my (well, Keith's) Air Force t-shirt and shorts. Groaning, I knew that I went to bed three hours ago (after having some bourbon and getting yelled at by Gibbs in his basement while he worked on his boat) and had to be up in less than three hours, but something was really bothering me. I didn't know what it was, but like Gibbs, my gut was telling me something.

_Maybe it was that trust thing that Ducky was talking about?_

I sat up in the bed, shaking my sleepy eyes awake and thinking about what my gut was telling me about: Felix being guilty of murder. Yes, I told anyone that he was always innocent until proven guilty in my eyes, as with any other person charged with a crime. However, the evidence kept piling up, enough to say that Felix was involved with something, the worst of it being the murder of his own uncle. Mentally, I made a list of everything I knew and it wasn't pretty.

Felix hadn't talked with N.C.I.S. yet, so we don't know what his alibi is and where he was at the time of the murders in question. His footprints were in Colonel Henderson's apartment (and at the other crime scenes, for all I know), but it also could be that he was around, but not at the scene. He has a police record with reports of child molestation. He's also dating Seth Austin (son of the Black Crusade leader, Henry Austin), who Simon said was part of the Black Crusade (a picture and nothing more on the Pentagon file), which was investigated by Colonel Henderson in 1995.

_This isn't making sense…_

There was more. I knew that Felix (and Seth, too) was also at the Love when the shooting happened, ducking his head just after Seth went out of our private room. As one of Colonel Henderson's closet relatives (and the one living nearest to him), he was supposed to help organize the funeral, but that hasn't happened yet. His family's name has been linked with the Black Crusade. Hell, he and Seth Austin even disappeared while Gibbs and I were in Ashbury Park!

Suddenly, my cell phone charging next to me lit up and tweeted, telling me that I had a text message. Perplexed (because nobody really texted me in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency), I reached over, unplugged the charger and flipped it open, seeing that the text message was from none other than Felix himself.

_Please call me. I know ur awake._

Damning shorthand, I texted back immediately. _Are you nuts? Are you really stalking me or something?_

The reply came quickly. _I know where u r. I see u thru the window._

Scared, I whipped my head around to the window, seeing nothing except the nightly shadows whistling in the wind. So, to satisfy my own inane curiosity (and trying not to get riled up by being spied upon), I got out of bed with my phone and looked out, still seeing nothing. I sent a message back immediately, trying to call on Felix's bluff. _I don't see you. You're lying._

_U won't c me. But, I know ur wearing a t w/shorts. I think it's Keith's. So, call me. NOW!_

A little more than nervous now that Felix proved me wrong, I was tempted to text back and ask why the need for the call, but then thought that calling might be a better form of communication. I could get some straight answers instead of going back and forth, showing everyone the send messages and the received ones.

Then, I had a better idea.

I sat back down on the bed, as if I was going to call Felix, but I texted back instead. _Give me a few minutes to use the bathroom. Call you when I'm finished._

Without an answer back (and not caring), I put my phone in my pants pocket. Then, I ducked down (not wanting to be seen by Felix), crawling across the floor to the door and picking up one of my steel toe boots (the extra pair of shoes I brought with me). The door was already opened, so I slipped through, taking a right and heading towards Gibbs' room, keeping to the floor in case Felix can see me some other way I don't know about.

Ok, granted, I knew that heading into Gibbs' bedroom was a big no-no, but this was kinda important. I mean, I was in contact with Felix Henderson, somebody N.C.I.S. has been looking for. I couldn't handle this alone. Ducky was right. I needed to trust Gibbs.

Gibbs' own bedroom door was slightly ajar, so I creaked it open some more. Knowing that it was on the other side of the hallway, Felix couldn't possibly see me unless there was another person watching the house. Doubting that, though, I got up with the boot. Gibbs was sound asleep, I saw. Throwing that boot against his wall might or might not wake him up (Dad always did when Mom threw hers), so I had to try something.

Hell, I was always afraid of touching any military personnel (in or out), since shaking them awake might trigger a reflex that would get me killed. I didn't know what Gibbs was going to do if I tried waking him up, either way.

Aiming for the wall nearest to the queen-sized bed, I threw the boot, jumping and almost running out the door (afraid of getting killed) when it hit the wall. However, the noise was loud enough that Gibbs woke up. He immediately shot out of his bed and grabbed his gun, directing it at me at the doorway until he realized what had happened. Then, he put his gun down.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked me as I slowly came back in, rubbing his eyes as he grabbed my boot and handed it back to me.

"I need a blank tape and recorder," I explained softly.

"What? Why?"

"Felix Henderson just sent me a text message. He asked that I call him. He also said that he was nearby and could see me."

"And you want to record it?"

"I could put the phone on speaker. It's fuzzy, but it'll record. And taping it will be better than my word. At least I'll have physical evidence."

Even without coffee, Gibbs could be on the ball…almost.

"And you want a blank cassette tape?" he asked me incredulously.

I slapped my forehead. "Yes. Please get some coffee and find me one quickly. My usual excuse is starting to fall flat on its face again."

Shaking his head stupidly, Gibbs went past me, probably obeying me (especially in the coffee department). Smiling, I actually snuck into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly and flipping open my phone, waiting for Gibbs to find me. However, two minutes rolled by and he still wasn't anywhere near getting me a blank tape and recorder.

_What is taking so long? Gibbs isn't usually like this, even if it was this early in the morning._

Just as I popped my head out and walked into the hallway again, I got another text message from Felix. _When r u calling me? It's been 2 long._

I shot back another one. _I'm sorry it took so long. I've been having my usual monthly issue._

_I didn't need 2 know that._

_Well, you asked why I didn't call yet._

Just as I was about to walk back into the guest bedroom, Gibbs stopped me, silently handing me his cassette player with a record option and what seemed to be an old blank tape.

"Thank you," I mouthed as I watched him walk back to his bedroom, hiding the incriminating objects behind my back as I went back into mine.

_I c u. When r u gonna call?_

I was getting annoyed by Felix's constant stream of messages already as I flopped down on the bed, plugging in the player and popping in the cassette with the push of a dusty eject button. As I closed the player, I hid it behind the pillow and covered it enough not to be seen, but for it to hear everything.

Finally, without replying to the last message, I dialed Felix's number, waiting only a ring before he answered it.

"What took you so long, Miss Grief Expert?" he asked me as I put the phone on speaker. He also sounded annoyed.

"Why are you hiding when you're wanted for questioning in a federal investigation?" I then questioned back, aware that I was giving away too much.

"Lydia, you have to listen to me," Felix started desperately. "I didn't do anything. I didn't murder anybody. I was forced out of my apartment by this man, Seth's father –"

"And you escaped?" I interrupted.

Felix sighed, frustrated. "I'm hiding, Lydia. I can't go to the police with this story. They'd think I'm crazy."

"Well, considering you have a police record longer than my father's, I'm guessing that they would think that. However, you could have gone to N.C.I.S. for protection. They are helping to solve your uncle's murder. You could have said something before the good, old cleaning and disappearing act."

Surprised that I knew about the police record, Felix seemed to recoil, but shot back quickly. "I told you, I was forced!"

"Jesus, I believe you, Felix, I believe you." I had to calm him down for more information, but I wasn't sure if I was going to get any information.

"I'm so sorry about Mara," Felix then blurted out, knowing how antagonized we both were. "I'm sorry that she's dead."

"Do you know who committed the murder?" I asked softly, not sure that the tape caught my sorrowful, low voice.

"I can't tell you that and you know it. I'm being watched, Lydia. You have to believe me."

"Didn't I say that I believed you?" I asked, quiet again.

Felix was silent for a moment, as if thinking. He didn't reply, but it left me room to talk and try to get him to give me answers to the many questions swirling in my head.

"You know that Special Agent Gibbs will find you here once he hears me, right?" I smiled, knowing that Gibbs was someplace nearby, probably listening, calling McGee to search where Felix is and/or stalking his own neighborhood for Felix.

"Tell him that you're talking with a friend," Felix said dismissively. "You're not lying."

"But, this friend is wanted by many people," I argued. "Come on, Felix, let it up. Why are you being watched? Who's watching you? Where are they?"

"The Black Crusade is after me," Felix whispered furiously. "Seth's father is in charge. Ever since I was dating him, there has been trouble. They forced us from our homes, cleaned it and I've been on the run since. I escaped, but have been going from shelter to shelter, friend to friend, for help. I don't know anything else about them other than they're dangerous, you know."

"Because you're choosing not to tell me? Come on, you can trust me. I'm not going to tell anyone. Besides, why badger me to call you?"

"Oh, Lydia, I…"

"You…?"

"I love you and you know that, Lydia, but I can't endanger you anymore. The last time I saw you, you were almost shot to death by some crazy guys in black masks. I can't see that, you being dead like Mara. I'll protect you, whatever the cost. And I wanted to let you know that."

"That was so urgent that you had to tell me?" I sounded bitter, as if there was going to be something more to this conversation than some endearments and apologies, but knew that Felix did care about me somehow. He was a good friend…good, albeit irritating

"And that you should be careful," Felix then warned. "The murderers are after anyone who is trying to shut them down. To investigate the case might get you killed. Already, the Black Crusade has taken over control of Haiti again."

"Where did you get this information?" I asked, worried about the N.C.I.S agents in Haiti.

"I can't tell you now," Felix replied, seeming to be in a rush. "I gotta go. I'll call you sometime later, when I can. Love and kisses to your boss there…"

And with that, the phone clicked. Felix was gone.


	29. Eyes to Haiti

I entered Abby's lab later that morning, with her caffeine fix in hand (and wishing that I had one, too). When I came in, very intent on working with her and McGee on tracking down more evidence while Gibbs presented the tape to the Director, I saw my father in his wheelchair (a cane in his hands), confused. And he wasn't appearing to be happy and it wasn't just being confined to sitting down constantly.

"Why is it that the Pentagon file on the Black Crusade, which was _classified_, was opened without my permission?" I heard Dad thunder. "There was a password to this and –"

"It was hacked into, Dad," I interrupted, handing Abby (relieved to see me) her _Caf-Pow!_ "We hacked into the files because there was a direct connection with the Black Crusade and Colonel Henderson's murder. Not to mention, _Sir_, two other Marines and Mara are dead because of this. Need I remind you the importance of this investigation?"

"Why, you little –" Dad began, trying to take a swing at me with his cane, but missing when I jumped to one side.

"Is there a problem here?" Gibbs asked as he came in the lab with his coffee, narrowly missing the cane as he, too, jumped aside and spilled an almost black liquidy mess on the floor.

"Gunny, get my daughter off of this case now!" Dad yelled. "She's hindering the investigation."

"On my boss' orders, she can't leave," Gibbs replied. "So, either you cooperate with us or you'll be sent back to the V.A. Got it?"

"You can't order me around," Dad grumbled.

"Since I'm in charge here, you're following my orders this time." Gibbs sipped from his normal cup of coffee. "Now, Abbs, what you got for me?"

"Nothing so far," Abby replied, turning to her computer after the exchanges (McGee following suit, wisely enough). "Seth Austin's information on the Pentagon's Black Crusade file isn't coming up still."

"Because there isn't anything on him we could find," Dad offered, nicely enough. "We thought him to be innocent of anything"

"Other than he's missing, connected to the child sex trade and dating Felix Henderson?" I mused out loud, ignoring Dad's statement about him being innocent.

Dad looked at me. "I thought Felix was flirting with you," he said to me hotly, not believing what he was hearing. "I didn't know that he was some –"

"Enough already!" Gibbs interrupted. "Abby, what else do you have?"

"Well, McGee and I traced Felix Henderson's phone, as you've requested earlier this morning," Abby added, yawning to express a point. "Since ever he went missing a couple of days ago, his phone has been dead or turned off and we haven't been able to track him down. I mean, until a few hours ago. He was actually next door to your house, Gibbs. It's kinda creepy, you know. It's almost stalker material, if you ask me."

"Abbs," Gibbs warned.

"Ok, ok, well, back to Seth Austin. Now, we know that he's on this file and we've got next to nothing on him. However, the security tape of one 'Randall Stephens', from Buxton, Maine withdrawing his money from the Bangor, Maine T.D. Bank North has shown us one person."

"And another behind him," McGee added.

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

"Patience, my dear Gibbs, patience," Abby said as she brought up the security tape and zoomed in on two people. One was 'Randall Stephens', from Buxton, Maine and the other was behind him, surely someone we knew.

As the two people were showed on the screen and Abby showed a closer picture again, McGee said, "Mr. Randall Stephens was none other than Henry Austin, clearing out his bank account here in the States."

"And the other is his son, Seth Austin, about a day after he vanished." Abby took both faces and ran them through a facial recognition program, running into both Henry and Seth Austin to prove it. "He was also clearing out his own bank account and closing it, although he didn't leave his in an assumed name."

"Where are they now?" Gibbs demanded.

"After Bangor, we've been trying to track bank and credit cards." McGee took over the computer from Abby and typed some more, revealing a paper trail. "After Maine, Henry Austin booked a flight to Haiti and paid for three tickets. The flight is scheduled for this afternoon."

"When was this flight booked, McGee?"

"Umm…" McGee typed and found an answer quickly. "It was about two hours ago, Boss."

"Who would the third person be?" Dad asked, disgusted.

"Another person who likes the child sex trade," I answered, knowing the obvious.

"Don't be a smartass, Lyddy –"

"Captain Sullivan, what else can you tell us about your trip to Haiti in 1995?" Gibbs interrupted again. "Why are they coming after you again?"

"Again?!" I screeched.

"We've all been threatened before," Dad disclosed, telling of the dangers that I never knew about. "However, my trip to Haiti was because Richard Henderson, Jim's little brother, told us about this organization and how Marines and Navy personnel and both U.S. and Haitian citizens were making a profit selling and killing Haitian children from Sud mostly. Originally, they had worked with the U.S. government to help these people, but Sam Waites turned it around in the early eighties."

"Then, why wasn't Simon's stories put into your file?" Gibbs asked.

"The U.S. government, unaware that the Black Crusade was still working under a guise of mercy, no longer wanted to be affiliated with such a group," Dad replied. "They wanted to erase their history with them, so the five of us worked on Maria, who came forward to tell us about the horrors she faced. We wanted to show the world that, although underground, the Black Crusade had power and prestige and had no ties to our government at all."

"Even when they already knew?" McGee shook his head in confusion.

"Yes." Dad tapped his fingers against his cane. "We worked from 1995 onward, pretending that we didn't know its history when Richard was a part of it. He lost his first son to C.P.S. because of it. He went insane, just like the rest of us, because of it, but he knew that he had to redeem himself for all that he's had, especially to Tyler. However, because he betrayed the organization he was working for, Sam Waites ordered that he be killed. I was with him when that happened and had to break the news to Jim.

"We both were on a reconnaissance mission almost, exploring the premises where the Black Crusade was. Richard also wanted to show me how the process worked and we even had a child with us. I don't remember his name right now, but I knew that he was willing to cooperate. I was in the picture because Richard was supposed to introduce me as a man who wanted to work for them and wanted to adapt the child. However, when we got to the entranceway, child being dragged in our hands, Richard said he wanted to see Henry Austin, Marcellin Traver and/or Sam Waites. He had some information and some new blood for the Crusade."

"It backfired," Abby said, as if to continue the story.

"Right," Dad said. "The guards at the door told me to leave, even if I wanted to join them. However, they took the child immediately and shot Richard right there. He was dead within seconds."

"Again, why are they after you now?" Gibbs asked in that severe tone of his.

"Nobody knew that we were investigating them until now," Dad divulged angrily. "How else should I know? As soon as the Pentagon got a hold of our files in 1996, the chase to end their organization began until three more Marines died. In the meantime, until now, I've received threatening letters and calls. Suspicious cars came and went by my home. I didn't bother to tell Alison or my children. Quite honestly, Gunny, it didn't involve them. They had no business and I couldn't have cared less."

"You should have come to us," Gibbs argued.

"And risk having my wife and children know my line of work? No. It was better that they didn't, especially Jay and Mara."

"But, because you didn't protect your family, one of your daughters is dead and on a slab in Autopsy."

"Mara could have taken care of herself. She's a fighter."

"Well, she died fighting, all right."

McGee, Abby and I listened to the conversation with interest, following the bitterness in each ex Marines' voice, but finding out nothing more than dead people and secrets. None of it was really making sense. However, it tapped me better in my father's mind, making me understand that deep down, he cared for Mom. For us children, I could tell that he almost cared less for…almost being the key word here.

"My daughter was a fighter, like Alison," Dad said. "Mara was a tough woman who took on a tough job when she had the choice. She could have come back home to me."

"And let her end up like Lydia?" Gibbs took another sip of coffee. "No. Mara did fight her murderer off and almost won, had she not been gagged in the back of her throat. She was even raped. We have evidence under her fingernails that might lead us to her murderer."

"However, there is a missing condom and D.N.A. to give to Abby," Abby added in cheerfully.

Gibbs gave her a serious look, as if to shut her up and that he'll let her know when the evidence will be received (if there was any at the scene to begin with). It worked, but Abby sulked like a daughter. She wanted to know why the evidence was not given to her and when it was found, if ever. Oh, hell, even McGee's ears perked up, as if to hear the reasoning, too.

"Your 'Ducky' losing his touch?" Dad then inquired sarcastically.

"Second looks are always necessary in investigations like this," Gibbs informed him acidly. "We can't second guess here."

"May I interrupt this party for a few minutes?" Director Shepard asked, walking quietly into the lab and handing Abby the tape I used just hours before, wrapped in an evidence bag. "Now, I've reviewed the tape from last night. Yes, it is obviously authentic. However, the information given that the Black Crusade had taken back their headquarters was a serious statement and had to be proven."

As we all held our breaths collectively (me and Abby especially), the Director continued. "I have called our agents and Haiti and have talked with one of them. However, it was forced, as I've found out. The members of the Black Crusade working with us have turned against us and have taken over their organization again. Several agents are now dead."

"Oh, my God," Abby gasped out.

"I could have told you that," Dad sneered from his wheelchair. "Let me go down to Haiti now, Director. I can take care of all of them."

"Not you, Captain Sullivan," Director Shepard corrected him. "I'm sending Special Agent Gibbs and his team, as well as your daughter down to Haiti."

"What for? Why?" Dad's wild expressions turned from contempt to sour within seconds.

"We don't need an ailing Vietnam veteran down there," she answered. "Besides which, your orders are to stay here and man the fort, Captain. We need you here more than in Haiti."

Dad gulped and grumbled inaudibly, but accepted the new assignment given to him. However, when I looked at Director Shepard and Gibbs, I saw them exchange a silly look. It took me a few minutes to figure it out, but when I realized what Dad's "new assignment" was, I had to laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation and how much grief I was feeling.

Being on the home front meant that Dad was being sent back to the V.A. hospital.


	30. Teach Me

I knew that it would be a few hours before we reached Haiti. The plane ride, in the meantime (the second I was doing for N.C.I.S.), was boring as hell, especially listening to McGee, Tony and Ziva teasing each other. Ziva and McGee were sitting across from me while Tony sat next to me, in the aisle and complaining to me about how he never got the window seat. However, between the three of them (and Gibbs telling them to shut up so many times before head slaps were threatened silently), I had enough corny jokes to last me a lifetime.

I needed to change the subject and quickly. Ziva's lack of understanding of American phrases and wording was driving me insane, as was Tony's movie talk and McGee's on computers.

When I finally could have the floor (and keep the conversation low, as Gibbs ran off someplace to the back of the plane), I said, "So, nobody's been telling me about all these wonderful rules you guys follow. Can anyone enlighten me on some of them?"

There was silence.

"Really?" I asked sarcastically, albeit bitterly. "Really? Nobody is willing to teach me these rules that Gibbs has been telling all of you?"

"Well, I don't know all of them just yet," Ziva admitted quietly.

"There are fifty of them," McGee informed me.

"Gee, I knew that." My sarcastic attitude seemed to damper my already dark mood. If nobody was willing to help me be a better agent here, then what was the point of my new job?

"Well, you don't keep suspects together," Tony began earnestly. "And you never screw over your partner."

"Two rule number ones?" I asked, happy to finally be enlightened.

"Umm, Tony…" McGee began, noticing Gibbs behind mine and Tony's seats.

"Oh, God, Probie, is it that hard to teach another probie Gibbs' rules?" Tony cleared his throat (still not knowing Gibbs was behind him), as if trying to prepare for a speech. "Ok, Lyddy, got some pen and paper?"

"I think I can manage without," I replied, eagerly ready for a lesson.

"Ok, but I'll be highlighting the important ones. So, rule number two is to always wear gloves at a crime scene."

"Well, that's one of the golden rules," I pointed out. "It's the first thing they teach you."

"Well, Gibbs made it a rule for a reason. Now, want to hear the rest of them?"

I nodded, knowing that I had to play a game in order to get what I wanted.

"Don't believe what you're told," Tony replied as soon as he saw my nod. "Double-check."

"Rule number three?"

"Yeah, but it's kinda like this movie with –"

Tony was suddenly interrupted by a hard head slap to the back of the head.

"Hi, Boss," Tony said, rubbing the sore spot as Gibbs made himself known in sight. "A little off topic, right?"

"Also rule number three, don't be unreachable," Gibbs declared as he took his own seat in front of me and Tony at the aisle, ignoring Tony's question.

"But, you've been unreachable before, Boss," Tony mumbled.

"What was that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs turned around in his aisle seat.

Tony looked about ready to jump out of his skin, he was that scared of Gibbs at the moment. "Nothing, Boss. I didn't say anything."

"Well, the best way is keep a secret is to keep it to yourself," Ziva suddenly said, wanting to get in on the fun and show off her own knowledge. "Second best is to tell one other person, if you have to."

"There isn't a third best," Gibbs added.

"You don't waste good," McGee then chimed, telling me what appeared to be rule number five.

"Never, ever say you're sorry." Tony stopped rubbing where he was hit. "It's a sign of weakness."

_I've been guilty of that many times before. However, as the Director has told me, it's better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission._

Tony went on. "Always be specific when you lie."

"And remember it well?" I asked, curiosity lining my question.

All four agents turned and looked at me.

"What?" I was aghast at having so much attention on me. "It's something I always followed when I lied."

"Well, anyway," Tony continued, trying to get the others to stop staring at me (Gibbs most of all). "Never take anything for granted or assume anything."

"It makes an ass out of you and me," I muttered, knowing that Tony was awfully good at assuming that Gibbs wasn't around.

"What was that, New Probie?" Tony asked, slapping the back of my head.

I was on the defensive this time, thinking that I did not deserve that (and answering Tony's question, for that matter). "What was that for?"

"You're not paying attention to me, the Very Special Senior Field Agent."

"Am so!"

"You are not and I can prove –"

Gibbs, without anybody seeing him, had gotten up and slapped Tony in the back of the head again. As soon as I realized what had happed, I felt satisfaction. The smacking sound made me feel all warm inside (as did Ziva and McGee, probably), despite Tony's discomfort at being slapped twice in front of me.

"Onward to rule number nine, Boss," Tony practically yelled.

"Don't go anywhere without a knife," I informed him as Gibbs did something akin to beaming (although I don't think I can call it that just yet).

"Ok, then, rule number ten, which we can all be guilty of," Tony said, looking over to Ziva mostly. "Never get personally involved in a case."

_Yes, I'm guilty of that, too. I'm getting too personally involved in a case when I'm not even a probie agent. My feelings are getting the best of me even._

"Rule number eleven is that you shouldn't date a co-worker," Tony continued with a smirk on his face.

"Slap him, McGee," Gibbs ordered, telling me what my gut was saying about Tony (which was that he was lying and teasing me).

McGee quickly got up with glee (I saw it on his face) and, for the first time perhaps, slapped Tony in the back of the head. While McGee headed back to his own seat also satisfied, Tony rubbed his head for the third time, aware that he was screwing around a lot after my request to be taught all these rules.

"When the job is done, walk away," Tony corrected himself after he recovered (mostly) from McGee's slap.

"Close the case, in other words," I muttered inaudibly.

Either Tony didn't hear me or chose to ignore me, but in any case, he turned his attention to McGee and not me. "Hey, Probie, you know that it's not nice to head slap the Very Special Senior Field Agent."

"So, he shouldn't be listening to Gibbs?" I asked meekly, always being the smartass.

"You don't encourage him!" Tony stuck an accusing finger in my face as he turned to face me, shaking it like I was a bad dog. "You…you…"

Tony was slowly backing away from his insults towards me, trailing in his sentence when a looming shadow made itself known around our area. When I looked over his shoulder, there was Gibbs. His hand was poised to execute another head slap, but I had the distinct feeling that Tony knew that Gibbs was right behind him again and that anything else he said would result in the fourth head slap of the trip.

"Gibbs is behind me, isn't he?" Tony asked in general, not directing the question to just me.

"You can say that," Ziva informed him as she innocently picked up a magazine from the pocket in the back of the seat on front of her.

McGee said nothing, but I did see a secret snicker on his own face, happy that Tony was getting the brunt of Gibbs' annoyance that time. I thought that perhaps he was enjoying Tony being assaulted so, but I knew that anybody getting a head slap from Gibbs was enough to merit some pity.

Or, so I thought.

Gibbs head slapped Tony, with both Ziva and McGee smiling about it. "Next time, DiNozzo, don't insult the people I give orders to."

"No, of course, Boss, I won't," Tony almost whimpered, hamming up his injuries.

"And you don't be teasing Lydia here."

"No, Boss, I won't. You can count on that, Boss. I won't be teasing our new agent here at all, no I won't!"

"So, the lesson's over for now?" I asked, highly amused that Gibbs was in an protective mood once more. Inside, though, I was still fuming over him trying to be my keeper, remembering well what happened after the Ashbury Park warehouse exploded.

"For now," Gibbs replied to me, going back to his seat.

Secretly, I was a little disappointed about the lesson being over, but relieved that Tony was done teasing me. I knew that there were about forty more for me to learn, but those eleven already told to me was making the gears in my mind turn. All of them seemed to be a code for life, but at the same time, though, it was the godlike guidelines of the many agents that Gibbs came into contact with. They weren't just his co-workers, it seemed, but also his surrogate family.

Remembering well what the Director said about Gibbs and his first wife and daughter, I kept my mouth shut. I could not let anyone know what knowledge I was storing. I didn't know how to figure all of it into the hand of cards just yet.


	31. Granted Political Asylum

As soon as we got off the plane in Sud at the Les Cayes Airport, security surrounded us, armed and ready. Apparently, we were the agents that we supposed to be finding out why the Black Crusade was taking back control and why the children kidnapping rate was rising rapidly, more so than ever before. However, deep in this city called Les Cayes, where there were always annoying tourists and beautiful beaches galore, there was a chance in hell that we'd find a bunch of men and women kidnapping, sexually abusing and killing little children.

In charge of the security detail for us agents was Stephane Roy, who was also assistant director general of Haiti's National Police and the one who was also going to be working with us on the case. A man clearly in his early fifties with grey hair and a thin, devious smile, Roy met up with us as security surrounded us, giving off an aura of command. Pushing his way in, he managed to squeeze in next to Ziva and McGee, who flanked Gibbs. However, I knew that his goal was to talk to Gibbs and give him the load down of what he knew. After all, the Haitian government was barely aware that the Black Crusade was still up and running this much until recently…or even killing the Marines investigating them.

Or, so we thought.

As we walked towards our vehicle, I thought about the Haitian law enforcement. I knew that the National Police here were the only law enforcement organization keeping some security in Haiti after the disbandment of the Haitian military forces. However, for N.C.I.S. to be courting with them on this investigation was, according to Director Shepard, a great honor. It would also be the first time we would be playing with Haiti.

"Special Agent Gibbs," Assistant Director General Roy greeted, finally getting his way through his men and the agents as soon as the five of us walked towards our waiting limo and squeezed into one (me, Roy and Ziva on one side and Gibbs, McGee and Tony on the other). "I see that you've brought a pretty small force in helping us take down the Black Crusade."

Despite it being about one hundred degrees (and in the late summer, to boot), Gibbs was wearing his usual full office suit on, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. "It's a pleasure, Assistant Director General Roy. And our force is just enough to help bring down whoever is left at the Black Crusade headquarters."

Roy looked at the five of us skeptically in the limo as it drove out of the airport. "Special Agent Gibbs, you know that the Black Crusade has been a group of terror and pain. Are you sure only five of you would be able to dismantle them when ten of your agents already could not? Reports tell us that all ten have been tortured and killed."

"With due respect, Assistant Director General, my team is sufficient enough." Gibbs was sure of himself, although I pretty sure wasn't. Trained as I was before leaving, I didn't have the same confidence that the Boss had.

Roy just shrugged his shoulders, quickly taking a map out from his position behind the front passenger seat. Showing it to Gibbs, he pointed to locations we agents could not see, adding, "See? Here and here, we have been seeing suspected agents of the Black Crusade with small children. All of them are between the age of two and four. We don't know how many have gone missing, but many of them have been reported so by their parents."

"So, the areas in which they are missing children are poor neighborhoods?" Tony asked, looking out the windows and realizing how destitute Les Cayes can be.

Roy nodded. "They aren't the kind of families that save money for their children to go abroad, like the rest of the families claim happen. These are poor families, struggling to feed the mouths in their home. They live in small huts, sometimes in alleyways, mostly in and on the edges of cities. They forge their shelters out of what they can find, mostly garbage left behind. Children can easily go missing on the streets, searching for food and a better place to camp out, as if were. With so many of them gone, though, we have to suspect the worst has happened."

"Is there evidence of any buildings that the Black Crusade may be hiding in?" McGee asked, taking out his laptop computer and typing in some things, for tracking the money trail of Henry and Seth Austin here (because we knew that it ended in Haiti). "Here in Les Cayes, there's surely someone who knows something, can tell us where a paper trail is."

Again, Roy shrugged his shoulders. "We have nobody. Until you've found Ewenso Simon, there has been nobody here who would tell us anything, not even your Pentagon, who had originally informed us of its continuing existence in 1996. We know what you know unless you want to talk about when the Black Crusade was actually legal."

I noticed that Gibbs was frustrated by the situation, but was saying nothing about it as his forehead continued to draw lines of anger. I also could see that he knew that Roy was hiding something. What it was, we all could not tell, but my gut was telling me that somebody was lying, most likely Roy.

Suddenly, a cell phone chirped. It was Roy's, a call that he picked up immediately when he saw the name and number on it. "Yes?"

After listening for what seemed like an eternity, we saw Roy blanch, turning from a commanding presence to one of goo. He nodded a lot, trying to speak, but was always interrupted by a voice that dominated the conversation. Gulping at what seemed at the end of the exchange, a muttered sense of gratitude was heard before he hung up.

"That was the director general, my boss," Roy informed us as he put his cell phone away. "Seth and Henry Austin, along with their guest, both have been given political asylum herein Haiti due to troubles in the United States. Black Crusade or not, they have been given a ticket to freedom and cannot be touched, with or without political crimes pinned against them. They have been granted sanctuary here."

"Are you kidding, Sir?" I blurted out. "Does your boss know what these people have been up to, especially concerning the murders of these U.S. Marines?!"

Gibbs shot me a look of pure venom, being so rude and all to a government official (after Director Shepard even explained to me what diplomacy meant before leaving), but I ignored it as I continued. "Can't you fight it? Can't you tell him about the crimes that we've pinned on them and hold them for us?"

"That's another thing," Roy replied, nervous (and not outraged, as I would have expected him to be) to hear me speak so audaciously. "The investigation into the Black Crusade has been closed. Unless they attack us directly, there is no just cause in chasing down an organization that has been _suspected_ of kidnapping and murder and nothing more."

I slapped my forehead, willing my tongue to be silenced, but it was impossible until Ziva spoke for me, almost at will. "And if we have the evidence, will the investigation be opened once more?"

"I seriously doubt it," Roy said, defeated. "You should call this case cold and move on, dead Marines or not."

Tony, silently sitting there as McGee was trying to track a trail (and then told that the case was closed, so the computer was shut down), showed his outrage, but not a lot of it. "Assistant Director General," he said soothingly (without showing his inner feelings), "are you sure that we cannot continue this investigation as planned? Director Shepard, with whom you have spoken to, is very anxious to see that these three prestigious Marines and their families have been given justice. In addition –"

"I do not have the authority to give you permission to be in this country at this moment." Roy adamantly put his arms across his chest. "Your trip has been for nothing, my friends. I should tell the driver to turn around and head back to the airport."

"On a busy road like this with too many pedestrians and vehicles? I think not." Tony smiled. "Now, I did not finish. In addition, _Sir_, we have another Marine, who has been on the case in 1995. He's alive, but will be targeted unless we shut down the Black Crusade. One of his daughters has already been murdered in cold blood. Should the rest of his family be killed, just the same way as the daughter was?"

I shuddered visibly. _I could be next. Mara seemed to be the appetizer. Jay's in Iraq, but there's always me, the one helping to bring them down._

"Considering how one of your victim's relations is also a prisoner of the same people who won their asylum?" Roy snapped, not specifying who it was, although Felix Henderson was on everyone's minds. "No, I don't think that we will be handing over jurisdiction of this case to N.C.I.S. this time. My boss has kindly asked that all files be forwarded to him and to close it on your end."

McGee closed his computer silently as if to shut it down completely, pleading to Gibbs on his left with his eyes that he not hand over the machine. He knew that all of our case files (well, copies of them) are on the laptop that he brought with him. Roy knew that and was holding his hand out for the electronic device, like a child at Christmas wanting his presents. However, that want was quenched pretty quickly.

"We're going to have to send them from D.C.," Gibbs quickly lied to Roy, motioning that McGee's computer be kept with him. "The computer is used for tracking."

Roy was not convinced. "I'm sorry, Special Agent Gibbs. My orders were to confiscate any equipment that you've brought with you, personal cell phones and such excluded. Now, hand over the –"

Suddenly, what sounded like an exploding noise was heard under our feet. With the driver barely in control of the limo, the vehicle was swaying to and fro, threatening an accident. People around us ran to get out of the way with no one luckily hurt (as far as I knew). However, store stalls were knocked over and numerous fruits and vegetables scattered across the limo windows and windshield.

"What the hell is going on here?" Roy had turned around and was banging hard on the glass that separated us from the driver. He then barked something in French, but the driver only replied something to the effect that he was going the best he could and that he could try to brake someplace safe.

"Assistant Director General, who knew that N.C.I.S. was coming to Haiti?" Gibbs asked cautiously as the driver managed to control the limo and slip it into a deserted alleyway. "The trip here was supposed to be known to very few people."

"The National Police knows," Roy revealed. "Our president knows. Other than that, I don't know who –"

A crash and another gunshot aimed towards the car interrupted Roy. When I looked out of the tinted window, I saw that we had run into some garbage in the alleyway, making the limo stink like a car hitting a skunk on the road. However, concerning where that gunshot came from, I couldn't tell, nor could I see where the target was. It did get Gibbs fired up, although he was pretty calm about it.

"The Black Crusade seems to know that we're here," he said nonchalantly to Roy.

"We don't know that!" Roy retorted, getting annoyed with our obsession with closing the case. "It could have been anyone who knows that this is my personal vehicle."

"Who else would be shooting at us if we weren't in this car?" Gibbs then asked as he motioned his three agents out, all of them squeezing out into the alleyway just as Gibbs opened the door. Then, to me, he added, "Lydia, stay here and cover the Assistant Director General."

"But –" I was about to argue.

"Stay here and guard the Assistant Director General," Gibbs barked before leaving. "And that's an order!"

* * *

**I haven't seen any references anywhere to Haiti having an Assistant Director General, especially one named Stephane Roy (although I'm sure they have a back up guy to the Director General). However, the rest of the information about the Haitian law enforcement is true.**


	32. Checkmate

Moments passed slowly, ticking silently in the hot limo. While Roy and I stared at each other during the time frame the agents had been out, I thought about escaping once more and then erased the stupid consideration. Granted, I could not run after Gibbs and his team again without getting into trouble (and this time, I knew it would be serious and cost me my future job), but getting Roy to talk to me was another story. I knew that he was hiding something and wouldn't kiss and make up to us for trying to kick us out of Haiti, but there had to be some way to get him to tell me something about the Black Crusade.

I broke the silence after another ten minutes passed. "Sir, is there anything you can tell me about the Black Crusade?"

Roy turned away from me immediately, embarrassed. "What is there to tell you?"

"Well, you can tell me why the Austins and their 'prisoner' have just been granted political asylum here in Haiti and why the Black Crusade case has to be closed."

"My boss tells me nothing, but he orders me to do things. That's just his way."

I banged my fist against the hard plastic middle console, causing Roy to turn back to me in dismay. "That's not good enough!" I yelled as the driver took his leave, saying in English that he'd return after his short walk finding the other agents. "There are three Marines already dead and several years' worth of little children enslaved to abusive powers and then death. They have no chance in life, but you know that we can save more if we stop them. Come on, Sir. We can save _hundreds_ more if you aid us in the investigation."

"How?" Roy laughed bitterly, hollowly even. "The Black Crusade has quite a few officials here with money in their pockets. They've been protected here for years because of this _quid pro quo_. The president only has to be kept in the dark, just in case he decides to shut them down."

"Are you? Are you in their pay?"

"No. No, never!" Roy looked at me horrified, as if I suggested something lewd and inhumane, but there was an undertone of something different in his voice. "I have a wife and small children at home. How could I look at them and not think that one of mine might be behind a cage, starving and raped?"

"Then, why don't you stop it? Bring it to the attention of your president?"

"Because they are the most powerful and the most discrete of all organizations here in Haiti," Roy explained to me, like I was an idiot. "To protect their interests means that they would have to protect you. To bring them to the president might mean the end of the government in Haiti as we know it. They are more powerful than he is and would stop it nothing to make sure that he will never bring their business to an end. Even if he tried to, then the Black Crusade can easily end his own term."

Quickly, Roy cupped my chin into his warm hands. "Young Miss, it's imperative that you all stop the Black Crusade. However, to unbalance this country would be a grave mistake and one that I cannot allow you to make."

I shook myself out of the kind, innocent gesture. "No, Sir. We can always rebuild a country that is united to stop terror. Opposition is a force in which grows with determination and strength. It's not only arms and money that make a government or an organization, but the willpower and the people who strive and envision its success."

Roy looked at me with some admiration, but it wasn't long before he caught up with my charade. "Wait, aren't you a probationary officer for N.C.I.S., fishing for information, no?"

I smiled and took a bow from my seat, almost liking the sound of my new title on my tongue. "N.C.I.S. Special Agent Lydia Sullivan, Captain Gregory Sullivan's daughter, at your service, Sir."

"You did not answer my question, Special Agent Sullivan. You're here for more information, are you not?"

"I admit nothing, Sir, but that I have a desire for peace and justice."

"To be an agent knows no peace," Roy pointed out to me, as if he knew more than I did in this world of lies and destruction. "You seek justice and receive it most of the time, yes. To be as driven as Special Agent Gibbs is truly a gift that calls for it every time. However, to know about the Black Crusade is a dangerous pathway, one that would lead to betrayal and sometimes death. Most of those who travel to see them have not come back."

"My father did." I remembered his story from Abby's lab and shuddered visibly, knowing what happened to Felix's father.

"A rare occurrence," Roy tossed aside quickly. "However, Special Agent Sullivan, I think your want of justice for these Marines is too high of a price to pay. Just think of what you could find out. Are you willing to end this case, find the same closure and still deal with the consequences of your actions? Are you willing to be as cruel as the other agents in finding the truth?"

Roy's words grabbed onto me, making me think harder. I could see what he was talking about, but I also did not understand what he meant. Closing down the Black Crusade was too high of a price to pay? What did Roy mean by finding closure in the case? What was so horrific that I had to drop out of the case? And, most important of all, what did he mean what he said that I had to be ready to deal with the consequences of my actions?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the questions out of my head, but I could not. Roy saw it immediately and smiled, not knowing what I had already figured out.

"Do you understand me now?" he asked me slowly, as if I was a child.

"I understand you perfectly, Assistant Director General," I replied, slowly pulling out my gun and pointing it at him. "However, I am also wondering what else you know about the most dangerous group in Haiti. It's obvious that you have no hand in the schematics of the Black Crusade, but it also seems like your hands are too deep within their pockets as well. So, tell me, Sir…do you tell your wife and children what you do after hours or is that something you keep secret from them, too?"

Roy's deep brown eyes flashed a commanding, albeit angry, gaze. He was up to something, planning to make his next move, but I couldn't figure out yet.

"You helped the Austins and their 'prisoner' receive their political asylum, didn't you?" I continued, aiming the gun for Roy's head. "It was all just an act, wasn't it? Your boss supposedly calling you and telling you that the job was well done? That the United States was unable to grab onto suspects in an investigation that could rock global relations as we know it?"

"You're lying," Roy snarled softly, almost in a whisper. His eyes, however, betrayed him in his denial.

"No, I'm not, Sir. You've played the innocent fool and you've now lost. N.C.I.S. has found out your little game."

"Not for long they haven't," Roy then replied as he made a grab for my gun suddenly. Just as quickly, I struggled to regain my control, but the two of us pointed the gun up the limo's roof, shooting a hole upward, pieces raining down on us.

_Where is the driver? Does he know what Roy is up to? Where are Gibbs and everyone else?_ I was afraid of the answers to the questions as Roy and I continued to fight over the gun, which still remained pointed in the air.

"You little bitch," Roy grunted, putting swift extra strength into his struggle and freeing my gun from my hands finally. "You know that I'm sorry that I have to do this to you, but I was hoping that I would have all of the agents in my hands. Sadly, though, you alone would have to come with us…for now."

I was up for another fight, but a tap behind me showed the driver was back, but with a gun pointed right at my own red head, even with the window closed. _Jeez, there's the welcoming committee._

"Assault to a –" I began, scrambling to think of anything to get Roy back to playing on the chessboard with me.

"Don't give me that, Special Agent Sullivan!" Roy interrupted. "I know what your worth is. You're only the low man on the totem pole, as you Americans like to say. Nobody will miss you. Nobody is going to care that you're gone. You're only one of a few that can try and shut the Black Crusade down. And, as you've said, your small force won't be able to take down the determination of a group that's had more power than any N.C.I.S. agents will ever have."

_Gibbs, where the hell _are_ you?!_

"However, with Special Agent Gibbs already taking a liking to you, I have to wonder how far he'd go to save you," Roy continued as he stroked my head with my gun. "After all, you're only the unwanted daughter. Your sister and mother are dead now and your brother is on death's door constantly. What's the death of another family member mean to your father?"

My mouth opened, shocked.

"Oh, you believe that your father never talks to those he thinks he can trust?" Roy asked me, seeing my surprise. "I highly doubt that his opinion of you has changed in the last ten years or so. To him, your life is worthless as your sister's and mother's."

"You won't get away with this," I managed to mutter, aware of how cheesy the common movie phase sounded in a serious situation like this.

"I won't, will I?" Roy was amused at my statement, looking over my shoulder as the window automatically rolled down, my gun still running up and down my face. "Oh, how pitiful that will be. No, I can just hope that we get all that we bargained for and more."

And with that, my world went black.


	33. On the Boat

"Lyddy…Lyddy, are you ok?"

"Huh?" I opened my wearied eyes, seeing Keith in a blurry vision and feeling his love come right over me.

"Lyddy, can you hear me?" the blurry Keith asked me amorously as the floor underneath us swayed back and forth. "Are you ok?"

"I can hear you, Keith…my love…" I was becoming sappier than a tree and I knew it.

"Lyddy, you know that you shouldn't have come here," the voice replied once more, suddenly turning from Keith to another blurry form, one that I couldn't see clearly enough to discern. "And I'm not Keith, Lyddy. I'm far from the handsome, dashing ex Air Force boyfriend you knew from way back in the day. It's me, your friend, Felix."

"Felix?" I tried getting up, but my world started spinning faster and faster as I laid back down. "What are you doing here? And where are we if here is where we are?"

"I don't know." Felix sounded unsure of himself, but seemed confident as he started rubbing my sweating forehead. "I don't know where we are or where they're taking us. All I know is that we're not in Haiti anymore. We're on a boat with a bunch of Haitian kids and it's storming outside. And our company is over in the other cells, which we're luckily not in."

"Cells…?" With Felix rubbing my forehead gently, my thinking and vision started to clear. "What cells? Are they locked up someplace else? Are there more boats with children? Where are they going? Can we move them? How's the storm? What chances do we have of getting out of here?"

"None."

"None? What are you talking about?" I stood up suddenly again, ignoring my headache, as well as Felix. "We _need_ to get out of here, Felix! Don't you understand? You and me and all of these innocent children _need_ to get out of here and back to N.C.I.S. Haiti is under the threat of civil war if we don't stop this!"

"Lyddy –"

"Don't 'Lyddy' me! Felix, you have to understand here. The Haitian government is less powerful than this organization, according to Roy, and he wasn't too far off. If they try to stop it, this sex trade will turn the country around." I rubbed my aching head as I sat down once more to calm down, feeling the rough rocking of the boat around me, water swishing in corners of darkness. "Jesus, and Stephane Roy was one of them, just like his jackasses at work. He might not like the children, but he loved the money he was getting."

Felix sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. "Lyddy, you know we can't do anything about it. We're just gonna have to see what happens next before we do anything. Right now, it's storming outside, the kids are scared and we're down at the bottom of this boat."

"So, if this thing sinks, we're the first to go?"

"If you want to reassure me that we're not going to live, then yes, I'd like to hear more about it."

I put my head into my hands as Felix pulled his arm away, breathing heavily, thinking on just _how_ we're going to escape from the Black Crusade and needing answers on many things, Felix's involvement included. "I just don't understand, though. How were you captured, Felix?"

Felix was quiet for a moment, as if to think of past events, and then sighed. "It was Seth who finally caught up to me, about the time when I wanted to get things settled down. I just didn't know what he was into until the day he brought a little boy into my apartment. First, he said that the little kid was his neighbor, that his mother asked him to babysit. Then, Seth would leave him to play in my living room as he led me to the bedroom and…well, we did our thing. I felt uneasy about it because we were leaving a little boy alone while we had sex. And all Seth would talk about was how great this little boy was and how he's gonna have him around more often when his mother was at work. And he didn't even know the kid's name!"

There was silence between us for some time, only the water hitting the boat's walls coming to our ears. After several minutes, we both said nothing, thinking along the same lines of the sad situation we were in, but then Felix began his story again.

"Seth came over a few more times with the little boy. Sometimes, it'll be a normal day and we're all under the illusion of happiness, like things were before. Other times, it'll be like the first day with the boy or even sometimes, the poor little thing will cry endlessly and we wouldn't know how to appease him. And then, there was the day which I would _never _forget. It was the day before I was forced to clean out my apartment and leave, before I escaped and called you. I…I was cooking some lunch, just for me and Seth, when he came over…with the little boy again. And the little boy looked frightened, like Seth had done something to him. He wasn't even holding Seth's hand anymore, like all the other times he came over.

"'He was just bad for his mother this morning,' Seth said to me. 'He's upset over being punished.' I know better, though. Kids don't look so frightened after being punished for being bad. Hurts their pride, maybe, but it _never_ turns them into somber little creatures that don't speak a word and hide their feeling behind saucers for eyes.

"And then…then, came the worst part. Seth was talking about taking him into the bedroom with us and I consented with some hesitation, but I didn't realize that what Seth wanted was to pet him on the leg and talk normally, just as we always did. I knew something was wrong, though. Something was horribly wrong, the way he was petting that child and how the poor thing was hugging himself, not saying a word. The boy even tried showing him a naked leg, but Seth told him to told being silly and to put his pant leg down."

While I sat there, transfixed upon a story I knew the ending to, Felix gulped audibly, continuing nervously. "Lydia, I'll say this once and I'll say it again. I _never_ murdered anyone. I don't know who murdered my uncle and why exactly, but the Black Crusade has got something to do with it. I know it. I mean, why are they bothering me now, other than I was dating Seth? Or, I should say _was._ I haven't seen him since I tried escaping and was recaptured, after I called you."

"What happened after you called me?" I asked. "Why couldn't you just come with me? We could have protected you!"

"Like N.C.I.S. did to Mara, who is now dead?!" Felix spat out with venom, his face the epitome of a snake. "They did a _wonderful_ job protecting your sister, you know. And Sammy is God knows where, maybe dead like his mother. And your father is some nutcase asshole who's probably wondering how to kill you, just as my father did to me when he was alive. I had to take matters into my own hands, Lyddy. And I almost made it, too, had Seth not stopped me at the train station, behind him a mess of guards from the Black Crusade, all of them dressed like the Metro cops."

"He betrayed you?"

"Of course he did! Of course that two-faced ex of mine betrayed me! He knew where I was generally heading to, since he knows me _so_ well, and found me there, with Daddy's little minions right behind him. And for _what_? Because I knew something. I knew that Seth was involved in something and he knew that I was able to connect the dots and point the finger to him in this investigation when I was called in. I knew, before N.C.I.S. did, about the Black Crusade. To follow my own leads and judgments were better than some law enforcement agency, who couldn't even find their ass with both hands!"

"Felix! You can't just put judgment into your own hands. It's dangerous!" I shook my head as red prickly needles punched my face, a flush of heat washing over me as confusion set it. I was unable to comprehend what I was hearing, almost not believing that this was the Felix that I had known for so many years now.

Still changed, Felix challenged me. "Yeah? And whose side are you on now, my dear old friend? Are you on my side…or Gibbs' side?"

I was silent for a moment. To choose between the agent who has had my back and the friend that was with me for years was a hard one to make. For once, I was lost in thought, not giving Felix an answer right away. I could tell that he was waiting for one, but I had to give him a neutral answer, as if I was on his side and not hurting him. I wanted him to know that I trusted him, too, even if he was acting strange.

Ducky had taught me who to trust. I trusted Gibbs, without a doubt in mind. But, for Felix, the man that I grew up with and covered, my trust in him was complete. However, that same man was also making me pick him or Gibbs, one or the other. And in order to pick one, the other would be hurt and scorned.

Could I side with Felix and still keep my job – as well as Gibbs' friendship – as easily as it's been? Or, could I be with Gibbs and have Felix's wrath rain down upon me for years, not knowing when his revenge will cease?

It was called harassment and assault, for sure, but I, for one, was not up for it anymore because of the fill I had of it in life. And Gibbs…well, he would be pretty disappointed, but it will end eventually and he will always be there for me, just as I knew he would.

_Or would he still be there for me as I will be for him?_

Felix tapped his foot impatiently, staring at me. His freckles were accented more now that he was angry (and tanned), but his hair – slick, longer and blacker than I remembered it to be – stood out on edge, like he was a madman in disguise. And it seemed to me that he surely was turning into one, the part that he wasn't supposed to be transforming into.

The deaths of three Marines, minus his father, had done him in. And it seemed to kill him.

"Well?" Felix asked, still looking at me. "What are you waiting for? Are you going to trust me, like it's always been, or are you going to screw it and walk away?"

"Felix, I –" I started.

I was soon interrupted by the sound of a door opening behind us. While Felix looked over my shoulder, I immediately turned around to see two armed men, both glaring at us and not the children on the other side of the room. One held his assault rifle towards my head and the other had his at Felix. And both did not look all that happy.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" I commented sarcastically, standing up to face the men. "Is this the welcoming committee or are we a little too late for that?"

"We've got a smartass here, Larry," the first man said, the one with the rifle aimed at me. "Isn't the Boss gonna love her?"

"When he's through with her, he might," the man named Larry replied. "Let's take her and be done with it."

When Felix realized what was going on, he rushed right in front of me, just as the two men went to grab me. Denying them access to my person and defiantly standing up to them (while, at the same time, probably forfeiting his life), he puffed out his chest and wrapped his strong arms around my body from behind, keeping my tits crushed against his back as his hands held me by my own back.

Larry was not pleased as he stopped in front of Felix. "Come on, Gay Lord, we need to have the girl. Boss wants her."

The other man, frowning, easily pushed Felix out of the way with the push of single hand. "You might get her back. She might even teach you a lesson or two about being the right kind of person, like where to properly stick it."

As Larry and his companion laughed, they both grabbed me by the arms and started dragging me away, the children suddenly whimpering behind me as we walked away. I turned around to give Felix one more reassuring glance, just in case I didn't come back, but he would not look at me. All he did was stare at the cages to the right, where the little Haitian children were. Before the door even closed, I saw that Felix collapsed to his knees and wail like a child, crying for the inhumanity of it all.


	34. Henry Austin

Despite the obvious rocking and tipping of the boat in the storm to my destination on the way, the office I was dragged into was magnificent, as if it were untouched by the storm outside. The unusually large window to the left indicated that any turbulence was underway. Otherwise, knick-knacks cluttered the shelves, each coming from a different part of the world. Papers were nearly stacked into little corners on the filing cabinets behind the desk and on the desk itself. Even the tray of food sitting on top of a small table to one side was left pristine, not appearing to be disturbed in any form.

The chair behind the desk, tall and comfortable, hid a person smoking a cigar (from the smell of it). It seemed like a relaxed, _calm_, atmosphere for this boss, but I knew better, for it was anything but that. However, as the smoke rose riser, the person behind the chair spoke, as if he were God from the heavens. And, _boy_, did he sound a little irritated.

"Larry, Dex, do you have her?"

The guy named Larry motioned to Dex that he let me go. When I was completely freed from both men, Larry pushed me forward, with my big feet almost tripping over itself. I regained my footing, standing before the boss' desk, awaiting my destiny. However, what I also realized was that I still had my weapons on me, the stupid guards forgetting to check me. My knife was secretly serviced into a pocket in one pant leg and the gun that N.C.I.S. had given me on the plane ride to Haiti was stashed in the other.

"Here ya go, Boss," Larry replied in the meantime. "This is the girl from N.C.I.S."

"Good, good." The chair swiveled around, revealing someone that I _knew_ I've seen before, but older than its younger counterpart at the Love.

"Care to tell me what I'm doing here and why Roy sentenced me to a life on a boat?" I asked sarcastically.

"Ah, you're funny!" The man with the cigar inhaled and then exhaled smoke. "Larry, Dex, leave us. I'll take care of her."

"But, Boss –" Dex began, almost in a pout.

"You both know I can take care of this one," the man interrupted. "She looks too _easy_."

"Says you," I muttered as the two goons left.

"What was that, my darling redheaded princess?" The man got up from his chair and came over to me, cupping my chin into his hands as he put the cigar in an ashtray on his desk. "What did you say to me?"

I struggled against his grip, but knew better than to bite. However, I was pretty tempted.

"I said, you think I'm so easy? Wanna know what happened to all of your little minions that worked for the Black Crusade?" I grinned chillingly.

"Ahh, and you must be Lydia Sullivan, Greg's youngest little girl," the man exclaimed, so touched by my game.

"And _you_ must be Henry Austin, leader of this almighty group of perverts and the soldier who wanted to live," I said, wanting to spit more than bite at the moment. "I've met your son and I'm _deeply_ touched by his puerile maturity level. Wonder where he got it from?"

"Silly fool," the man I've named as Austin responded. "Ah, you silly little fool…"

There was then silence between us. Austin continued his imperial stare into my own eyes, trying to search for something that was never there. Dark orbs penetrated what torture could not, wavy, sandy hair brushing against my face intimately. The muscular body almost embraced me even, trying to be the father that I never had.

"You want to talk business with me, Miss Sullivan, talk." Austin let go of me, going back to his desk and sitting back down. "You've been following us around with N.C.I.S. for about a week now. Granted, I am not pleased with this, but the challenge has been a little…exhilarating, to say the least."

"Why do I need to talk with you?" I asked. "I have nothing to say to you."

"To hell you do!" Austin banged his desk with a heavy fist. "You've been consorting with a major government agency and threatening my business, one that's been around since 1970. Tell me, Miss Sullivan, are you used to making a deal with demons?"

"About what? What do I need to negotiate with you?"

"You might consider your life," Austin pointed out. "Even Felix Henderson's. Of which, if I remember correctly, he's been on the _bad_ list with us lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really think that he's so innocent?" Austin laughed at me. "Who do you want to trust, Miss Sullivan? Him and or special agent there? Because, if I were you, I would look for the bigger picture instead of what was under your nose."

"Are you saying that Felix Henderson helped you to murder those Marines?"

"I never said that, Miss Sullivan. All I am saying is that you should be careful as to where your favors head to. One just might scorch you as it leaves your hands."

"And what do you know about trust? What do you know about the man who helped you to live through Vietnam, the same one you trusted?"

Austin's eyes flashed like burning coals. "Vietnam _never_ happened, do you understand? The old story that keeps getting told is _not_ true, Miss Sullivan."

"And what about your little double agent there, Ewenso Simon?" I pulled the dead man out of my pocket, just for good luck in this game for survival. "He told us all about your good deeds of the decade, after you were declared dead. Care to tell me how you turned around?"

"Information comes at a price and you know that." Austin clamped his fingers together, as if in prayer. "And what my life story might be is of no consequence here. What happens to matter right now is _your_ life, Miss Sullivan. If you remember right, _you_ infiltrated a Black Crusade warehouse, along with your N.C.I.S. cohorts. You also happened to be at the Love on the night that Traver came in –"

"Knowing that Tellington was there," I interrupted.

Austin stared at me, taking another drag off of his forlorn cigar. "Yes, but he was also on a mission to kill _you_. My son had sources telling him that _you_ were helping the investigation and, unknowingly to you, were selected to be an agent upon your graduation from college, of you haven't been named as a special agent yet. With you on the loose, what was the Black Crusade to do? They have to keep operating. Anybody in the way is simply handled."

"Yeah, kill anyone with information, like all those Marines excluding my father now," I answered. "Like you said, it always comes at a price. So, what price are _you_ willing to pay for me to tell you everything I know?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." Austin put his cigar out in the ashtray as the boat swayed violently to and fro once more. "Miss Sullivan, my price is your life. I might throw in Felix Henderson's as well, but only if you give me what I want."

"Which is…?"

"Tell me where those agents are," Austin said gravely. "We last saw them in Les Cayes, at the marketplace. Roy was there to distract them, but I guess we all can't have the best people on the job. The man seems to be chickening out on our assignments lately."

Austin next muttered something inaudibly, but then continued on a brighter note, cheerier than ever before. "Now, you have two lives at stake here. Tell me where the agents are and you might get your life as the price. Tell me a little more and I'll give you Mr. Henderson's life, too."

_Am I to trust Henry Austin? If I tell him the truth, which is not knowing where Gibbs and the rest are, then I might not be believed. Austin might think that I'm not telling the truth and kill me anyway. But, if I get him on a false trail, then I buy some time, but when my deception is discovered, I better be protected or else. And Austin seems to think he has everyone on a leash here._

Emotions rolled inside of me like a bottle in the sea. Austin was pushing me around. He could not tell me if Felix was involved in all of this or not. He admitted that Traver was out to kill Tellington, even out to kill me. However, he did not say whether or not he knew that Traver had been killed by N.C.I.S.

Trust was a long road to travel, for sure, but I had no choice. My life was in Austin's hands. I might have something he might not and I had the chance of having the advantage.

_It's worth a shot. It's a shot from hell, but I'll need that._

"I don't know where Special Agent Gibbs and his team are," I said truthfully, showing it in my eyes. "The last I saw them all was when Roy's driver parked in the alleyway. They all left, to run after the shooters."

"Just as we wanted them to do." Austin nodded.

"What they did afterward, I don't know," I continued. "You can thank your goons, Roy and his driver, for that. I was unconscious by the time I found out who he was."

"I can apologize for that." Austin did, indeed, appear apologetic, but whether it was sincere or not, I could not tell. "It was necessary."

"You believe me?" I was amazed that Austin did not accuse me of lying.

"I can see that you're telling me the truth," Austin explained to me. "However, I don't think you're telling me everything."

"What do you mean?" I thought that I at least had my life to spare, but I didn't think that Austin was dissatisfied with what I said.

Austin pulled out a gun from underneath his desk and aimed it at me. "Miss Sullivan, don't try my patience. You're holding a lot more information than you're letting on."

"Like what?" I shrugged my shoulders, carefully eying a way to escape the office and finding that small chance in hell. "I haven't been in the investigation for long. I've been held back from a lot of things."

"Then, why the trip to Haiti, with you tagging along? Your director must know that we've taken back our main headquarters and killed those agents. N.C.I.S. must have had an idea that we've discovered what's been done to the warehouses in Ashbury Park and Los Angeles. You're targeting one place after another."

"Panicking yet?" I asked spitefully, getting ready for my sprint into the ocean. "Haven't heard anything from your main mother ship recently?"

Austin soon realized what I was talking about. "Where's Traver?!" he yelled.

"Why don't you ask those agents of ours when you see them?" I only requested of him before beginning my sprint to the window.

"Why, you little wench!" Austin began, getting up from his desk as I ran for the window.

I couldn't hear anything but random gunshots behind me as I crashed into the window, letting in the storm as my elbow and knee hit the fragile wall. Glass flew into my hair, but soon washed away as the rain and wind hit my face, wiping the blood from my vulnerable spots. I fell freely in a downwards spiral, splashing into the waters as quickly as I escaped.

I couldn't see anything underwater, so pushed upward. I surfaced to the top rapidly, trying to get a glimpse around the area. However, that proved more difficult than I thought. I couldn't see anything but darkness, wind and rain.


	35. Through the Best and Worst

The storm clouds had grown darker than I thought possible, but seemed to be subsiding in one direction as sunshine warmly touched me from the south. However, the cold waters still raged around me, threatening to drown me in their embrace. The winds pushed me around, wanting to sink me under the whirlpool of disaster surrounding me as well. What seemed like three ships sailed past me, waving goodbye, its children crying out for righteousness.

In the meantime, Austin was screaming out of his newly broken window, shaking a fist and his gun at me. Above him on deck (as if ordered to in an instant), men were aimlessly shooting into the water, missing me as I ducked in and out of the water and swam out of the way quickly, before the boats passing by could pull me down. However, my arms were rapidly becoming sore from the effort, especially after using them to break and then jump out of a window. I had to find some dry land and decide where to go from there.

_Great going, Lyddy, just great! You pulled off a pretty stupid stunt, worthy of a Gibbs smack. You're facing death. You could have taken the shot to the head from Austin. You could have died pretty quickly. No, you HAD to jump into the ocean and drown, didn't you?!_

Either way, the odds were against me. Land seemed so many miles away, albeit in sight. The storm was heading to the north, where Felix, Austin and those children with the Black Crusade were heading. Southward, there was some better weather and perhaps some beaches to wash up on, but I was not sure if I could make it with the wind and waves and a sore body and mind.

Just as the last ship sailed past and was some distance away from me, I thought. _I don't have a choice. I have to swim, no matter what. If I grab a hand and head back to Austin, my death is sealed. If I swim, I stand the chance of drowning, either by the elements or by my own body giving out._

Slapping myself in the back of head just for Gibbs as I treaded water, I allowed my legs to float to the top and pushed off, starting to swim to shore. My face felt hotter than hell and the sun ahead felt like it was burning a hole in my head, but I had to push on. Many people depended on me, and it wasn't just those children out in the boats.

~00~

Luckily for me, even without papers, I landed right back in Haiti, on the shores of Corail without knowing where I was or what I was doing, I was that tired from pushing myself to safety. I didn't even know, through the haze of my mind, that the authorities across the country were apparently looking for me. My picture was everywhere, being part of N.C.I.S. and all, and knowing that Assistant Director General Roy was the one that had me kidnapped did not help matters. Not to mention, the National Police were now on the lookout for the Black Crusade, being briefed on the organization and posting posters everywhere, demanding information despite the leaks in their own institute.

However, when one officer from the National Police noticed me on the beach, struggling to breathe as the waves pushed me onto the sand, he called a few channels. Afterward, pushing civilians and tourists aside, he came over to me, staring up at a sun that kept darkening before my eyes. I felt myself being pulled up the sandy dunes as hair met dry sea life and towels, but could not tell who my savior was. I was relieved, to say the least, that I was at last away from Henry Austin and his goons.

"If you are who I think you are, then you're in the right hands," the man above me said slowly in English as he stopped at a spot away from the beach spectators. "Can you tell me who you are? How did you get here?"

I could barely get my mouth to work, but when I did, all I could say to him was, "Lydia Sullivan, out to kill those in the Black Crusade."

~00~

For three days, I slept at the hospital at Corail, special guards from the National Police posted at my door and orders from the doctors not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. Because I was suffering from severe heat exhaustion, I was given water whenever possible (and ordered to drink down several glasses slowly) and a lightly air conditioned room, complete with shade and covered windows. Not to mention, I had annoying nurses who tended to me day and night and spoke a language I could not understand.

Nobody visited me but the nurses and doctors, so I had no contact with the outside world save for knowing that Gibbs would need me as soon as possible. I had lost my cell phone and my paperwork in the limo when I was with Roy, but it was quickly retrieved and given back to me by my third day at the hospital. The paperwork seemed like it was burnt at the ends and saved from harm, but the cell phone showed me several missed calls and text messages.

Some of the calls were from Gibbs or Tony without a voicemail (both of whom gave me their numbers just in case something happened), but the one that caught my attention was a number that I had not seen since Mom's funeral. The text messages were from the same number, asking me to call back as soon as possible and at which numbers, in case I missed him at one spot.

_Oh, Jay, did you just hear? Did you just hear that Mara is dead and Dad is at the V.A. Hospital, probably now declared insane?_

I had a few hours before I was released to Gibbs and his team, but this phone call could not wait, even if it added to my bill to call internationally. Sitting at the edge of my bed, with my hands shaking wildly, I dialed the first number, Jay's cell phone. I waited patiently, letting it ring a few times before it went to voicemail. I tried again. This time, it picked up, but I was hearing a voice that I didn't recognize.

"Hullo? This is Lance Corporal Uriah Heep reporting from the sandbox known as Iraq. May I ask who is calling Corporal Jay Sullivan's number?"

_Whoever it was on the other line is about to be mentally slapped if I don't get Jay._

"Hi," I replied calmly enough, trying not to get my temper flaring. "This is Special Agent Lydia Sullivan, N.C.I.S. I'm trying to reach my brother, Jay. Seen him around?"

"My lady in black, a special agent? Oh, your brother talks about you nonstop and –"

"Hell's bells, Michael, give me the damned phone!" I heard Jay yell over some sudden wind. "If that's my kid sister, you better hand that over to me or I'll be spewing out more Charles Dickens than David Bryon for the next twenty-four hours. Got me?"

"Yes, Sir," Michael replied military-like, immediately handing the phone over to Jay.

"Little sister, I don't have a lot of time," Jay quickly explained as he came on, without a greeting or anything. "There's a sandstorm coming here and I need to wrap up and take cover soon. It looks like it'll be pretty bad."

"Do you get them a lot?" I asked, worried.

"About three a month, on average," Jay confirmed. "You picked a pretty bad time to call me and I'm not mentioning that I'm also several hours ahead of you."

"Well, you picked bad times to call, too, Jay. What's going on?" My heart clenched tightly and then released, thinking that he knew about Mara finally.

"I'm coming home on leave soon." Jay's voice took a turn downhill, proving my deepest fears. "I don't have a clue when, just that I am. I heard about Mara and –"

A strong wind suddenly blew harshly, cutting us off for a second.

"Jay?! Jay, are you there?!" I yelled frantically, causing some of the nurses outside to look in with worried glances. I waved them away, motioning that I was fine and on the phone, which got them to leave me alone, luckily for me.

"I'm still here, Lydia." Jay's voice sounded distant and sad. "It's coming pretty soon. I've got no more than ten minutes before we get blown over."

"How long do you have?" I then asked. "I mean, how long are you staying home?"

"I don't know, Lydia. I don't know this time around. After basic training, they cut me some slack before my final training and sending me to this God forsaken sandbox. This is Mara we're talking about, though, not Mom. They could give me a week, maybe two. Or, I'll have a couple of days, be there for the funeral and leave for Iraq again."

"You talk about this as if it was business." I was bitter. "This is _Mara_, a human being. She isn't some inanimate object that we can just toss away. She's our _sister_, a mother who was taken away from her son. And Sammy –"

"Lydia, listen to me." Jay sounded serious for once. "Mara wouldn't have wanted us to grieve, even if we feel that way. She lived her life, she did what she had to do and she died. There's nothing we can do about it other than wait for the proper authorities to find her murderer, who's bound to stand trial, and be done with it. We have to move on."

"You don't understand –"

"Yes, I do understand more than you think. I discover bodies every other hour, sometimes whole families. I have to shoot and kill anyone who threatens the base, even little kids with bombs on their backs. I have to wipe my boots off of human flesh and blood every night and call it a good day's work. Lydia, war is dirty work and so is this new job you're seeking, as I've been hearing. You look for justice in a place where there is no reform, no sanctity for the helpless and you're trying to change it. We're alike, kid sister. We're alike in more ways than one."

I wanted to cry, hearing Jay talk that way, but with the wind blowing so hard on his side, I had to let him go and stay tough, without tears. He had a job to do and so did I. After all, we are a Marine family and we're stronger than we appear to be.

"I'll call you when I reach the States," Jay faithfully promised me, hearing no response out of my mouth. "I'll let you know how long I'll be there and when I'll leave for Iraq. Does that sound good to you?"

"Yeah," I automatically replied. "That sounds about right to me."

"I love ya, kid sister," Jay then yelled when the wind picked up stronger again. "Remember the words I said to you at Mom's funeral? Something she always said when she was down?"

"With you, I will grieve," I recalled nostalgically. "She always said that she would mourn with us, through the best and worst."

I could almost see Jay's smile, even though we were worlds apart. However, before he could say anything else to me, the phone line went dead, the sound of wind still blowing in my ears.

I then sat back down on my bed, locking my phone together and turning it off. I pulled my knees to my chin as the phone wedged itself in-between my fingers, my arms wrapped around my legs. After that phone call, I didn't know what to think, what to _say_ even. All I discerned was that Jay was right. We both had jobs to do. We both were supposed to bring justice to a system that found itself corrupt and correct it. And there wasn't any time for tears and grief, but only determination and force.

However, with the Black Crusade in mind (and hopefully not in Jay's), I found my job harder than his. While Jay was in this so-called "Operation Iraqi Freedom" mission, I was still finding out who I was supposed to trust and who might or might not be guilty in this international case involving dead Marines, abused children and dishonorable men and woman alike. He had an idea on who was responsible and innocent while I could not see beyond the evidence in front of me.

_Me?_ Ha! I was following my gut mostly, for sure, but the theory that someone was innocent until proven guilty seemed too distant to me. And I, for one, was still connecting the dots to a puzzle that remained just as mysterious as the day it was discovered.

* * *

**Uriah Heep is the name of the insincere and dishonest (yet humble) "yes man" character from Charles Dickens' series book _David Copperfield_. It's also the name of the English rock band, which was formed in 1969, of which David Bryon was the lead vocalist, from 1969 to 1976. The band itself is along the same lines as Led Zeppelin and still functions today.**

**The mention of the lady in black is in reference to the Uriah Heep song, "Lady in Black". Credited to Ken Hensley (the keyboardist/guitarist from 1969 to 1980), it talks about a man at war meeting a goddess-like entity, who consoles him and draws him into a light. Hensley himself said that it was a philosophical parable almost, that cautions that evil cannot be overcome by evil.**


	36. Hauntings

I met back with Gibbs and his team at a remote hotel in Les Cayes, my travel expenses and all comfort taken care of by the Haitian government. Apparently, the higher-ups and the National Police (not involved with the Black Crusade, as far as I could tell) seemed a little sorry about what happened and offered me a ride back south, in exchange for information from N.C.I.S. and the full report of the Black Crusade when the case closed.

That is, _if_ it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. I didn't have the authority to tell them either way, so had them contact Director Shepard. I guess she made a deal because I was soon on my way down to Gibbs.

"And I thought that we _were_ cooperating with the Haitian government about the Black Crusade," I mumbled as I headed into a conference room at the hotel that Gibbs was renting out for the day, a thunderstorm playing out behind me as I shook out the water from my red hair.

"Uhh, we _are_," Tony suddenly replied at the door. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the frame. "They just want to keep track of what's going on, _Lyd-ee_."

I wanted to slap Tony, but ignored the urge to. I was tired enough as it was and, with past events behind me (all of them seeming to want my attention all at once), I was in no mood to deal with sarcasm and stupidity. I wanted to fall apart as it was and I didn't need Tony (or anyone else on the team) there, most certainly.

"Well, geez, _Tone-ee_, we haven't gotten much cooperation so far," I pointed out as I stood in front of him, my own arms crossed as water dripped from my hair to his shoes. "I mean, look what Assistant Director General Roy did to me. He's involved with the Black Crusade, but was sent out to 'help' us. So, the question begs to be answered as to _who_ is also involved with the Black Crusade. Roy mentioned that there were many, but I think there are fewer than he says there are."

"Ya _think_?" Gibbs came out of the conference room, coming in-between me and Tony, but looking at me severely, as if I had done something wrong in getting kidnapped and then coming back to him wet.

I looked straight back at him. "What? I already slapped the back of my head for you. Need me to do it again?"

"Boss, I would happily do the honors for you," Tony offered, eying me with childlike glee, like I was his personal prey, being the new probie and all. "Lydia here has been into so much trouble with the law lately and I'd thought that –"

Gibbs interrupted Tony by slapping him in the back of the head instead.

"Right, Boss," Tony continued, as if rambling, rubbing his head. "I won't do that again."

Gibbs then suddenly turned on his heel, heading back into the conference room. "What do we have?" he then yelled at everyone, present and those ahead on-screen ahead of me and Tony.

Tony and I then exchanged looks with each other and chased after Gibbs, closing the door securely behind us as we seated our asses at the same table, next to McGee and Ziva. To mine and Tony's left, Ziva was inanely sharpening a knife before hiding it again, paying more attention to the paperwork in front of her (not to mention, an irritated Gibbs). To my right, McGee was clicking away on buttons that connected to the video conference, showing evidence on one screen as Abby and Ducky watched from their respective ones at the left.

"Well, all scenes of the crime revealed nothing more," Abby started. "The footprints matched a boot found in any old store in D.C. The bare feet and most of the fingerprints were definitely Felix Henderson's, but since he was supposedly at two of the crime scenes already, then it could eliminate him as a suspect. _However_, we found a single fingerprint on Major Flanders' body…well, Ducky noticed it, and we steamed it off the skin, which was pretty tough, and are running it now. I don't see any other evidence linking Felix Henderson to the crime."

"Ducky?!" Gibbs barked once more, unsatisfied with what we had as evidence still.

"I reexamined half of the bodies and am working on the rest, as was requested, and found nothing more," Ducky explained from his screen. "However, I did check Colonel Henderson's stomach contents and found something of interest. I am sending it to Abby's lab, pending that Mr. Palmer gets back here in time from his lunch date with that new cheerleader. Of course, I will keep checking the other bodies."

"What was it?" Tony asked with curiosity as Ducky disappeared from his screen for a moment and came back up, holding a container with something shiny in it.

"It's a ring, my dear fellow," Ducky replied, taking it out with gloved hands and holding it out so that we could all see it. "It's pure Hawaiian silver, as far as I can tell. However, on the top, there is a sort of figure, painted in black, it seems. It appears to be some sort of figure, but I am sure that Abby will figure it out once it's given to her."

I was so busy seeing the evidence screen that McGee had put up that the sight of the ring, when I took a quick glance, started to make me sick. It was the same feeling I got when I recalled a horrible memory, of personal assault, something that Keith kept mentioning was Dad's fault. It was like I was free falling, my stomach becoming a deep pit as it dropped from one end to another. My forehead started to sweat, the blurry past bringing back the man – perhaps someone not much older than I – sexually abusing me, the lonely child who only wanted her mother.

_I know that ring! I know it!_

Ziva noticed my discomfort quickly. "Are you all right, Lydia?" she asked me sincerely.

I gulped audibly, pushing back every foul memory I ever knew about, my body language just screaming anything but being all right. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just think I know where that came from, but not exactly where."

"Was it Colonel Henderson's?" McGee asked.

"No. And if it was, why would he have that ring in his own stomach?" I scratched my head in confusion. "Wouldn't he be trying to tell us something?"

"No, wait," Gibbs then said, calmer as he turned to us, but still demanding nonetheless. "Does anyone remember what anybody from the Black Crusade wore to identify themselves? The Pentagon reports said something."

As Tony stuttered something incomprehensible and McGee went through his own notes, Ziva found her voice. "It was a silver ring with some black thing on the top –"

"A hand!" I yelled out, interrupting Ziva as a clearer picture of the ring came to my mind from memories alone. "It was a black hand."

Gibbs then turned directly to me, his blue eyes seeing the fatigue, frustration and fear in my own body, something that I didn't completely hide from everyone fast enough. He scrutinized this new me, this person that usually stored any and all trauma away, and showed me nothing more than concern in his eyes, seeing perhaps for the first time that I was truly in mental pain, anguish that I could not define. He was also probably thinking of _why_ Director Shepard chose me, little old me with problems, as a new agent and wondering when he could get rid of me.

_After all, I did hear about how much Gibbs hates tagalongs and interns…_

Ducky took another look at the ring. "It does certainly appear to be a hand, my dear Lydia. Of course, Abby will let us know if you're right or not. You must certainly be so sure."

"_Too_ sure," Gibbs added suspiciously as he turned away from me.

Tony turned to me, becoming just as distrustful as Gibbs was a moment before. "You know, you do know a lot more about this case than we do."

"Me? You've got to be kidding me." I did not need to feign innocence that time. "What makes you think that I'm some murderess of Marines?"

"You seemed so, I don't know, _helpful_ in this investigation," Tony replied hotly. "You seem to be at the right place at the right time –"

"DiNozzo! Off her case…_now_!" Gibbs bellowed, his back to us.

"You know, Tony has a tip," Ziva said to me.

"_Point_, Ziva, that's _point_," McGee corrected.

"Regardless! Lydia, you do have been in a lot of trouble as if late and –"

"Ziva!" Gibbs turned back to us, about to reprimand his team about accusing me of something I did not obviously do when something from Abby's screen dinged.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! I got something!" Abby sounded excited as she, too, disappeared for a moment and then reappeared. "It's the fingerprint match from the body! And the system says that it's from –"

Suddenly, just as lightning struck outside, the power went out. We lost Ducky, Abby and the evidence screen all at once.

"McGee, get that…that _thing_…back up there!" Gibbs yelled again, annoyed that something as trivial as Mother Nature could disturb his plans.

McGee kept typing, but could not retrieve any of the video conferences we had or the evidence screen we had. "No go, Boss. The power's out for good."

Gibbs cursed under his breath, tensing up as another roll of thunder was hard. Another lightning storm soon followed it, as if it could not keep up with the speed of sound.

"When can we get that back on?" Ziva asked McGee, probably the same question that Gibbs was thinking, although with more frustration, for sure.

McGee gave up on the quest to appease Gibbs, pushing his keyboard away quickly. "Well, we have to at least wait until the power's back on. Then, of course, I have to reset the system and reconnect it. Then, depending on everything else, we might or might not get Abby and Ducky back. We're international now."

Tony and I groaned simultaneously, both of us knowing what it meant, especially to Gibbs (not to mention, the lack of explanation was McGee was a little disturbing). Without results, there was a risk of rage. _With_ results, we might have a chance.

_Probably._

Gibbs only waved us away to go our own ways, finally aware that we all could do nothing more than sit and wait out the storm. He then leaned up against a random table, deep in thought as McGee, Tony, Ziva and I crept outside the secured door, tiptoeing into the lobby, far away from Gibbs. The lights from there flickered on and off, as if someone had put a generator in place and it was just kicking in.

"What do we do in the meantime?" Ziva took out her knife once more, eying it carefully as her dark orbs also penetrated the clerk behind the desk, eavesdropping on us until he saw the knife.

"I don't know," McGee replied, obvious miserable as the clerk behind us said something about the generator helping the elevator function. "We don't have a lot of leads. We have patches of everything. And anything we have is leading us into circles."

"Like what?" I then required, curious. Most things had been left out, just because I wasn't quite part of the "inner circle" yet, but for me to be in the case was enough to merit _some_ information, in my opinion.

"Like that ring," Tony added in, ignoring my query. "That bothers me."

"And those agents, dead and/or stuck at the headquarters…" McGee trailed his sentence, lost in thought as much as Gibbs was earlier.

"Do we have a plan?" Ziva put away her knife, sure that the clerk was finally away from us.

"Gibbs will tell us soon enough," Tony promised solemnly, like he was a Boy Scout. "I'm sure of it. He'll go ahead when SecNav gives him something."

"And he'll be sure to growl about it," Ziva blurted out, for once correct in her American slang.

McGee and Tony did a double take. I, myself, had to shake my head in amazement. Throughout the course of my stay with the team, Ziva's been the worst to adjust to something new, especially to the English language, which must not be her first. To hear her actually use a word correctly was simply astonishing.

Seeing our expressions made Ziva more mistrustful of us, though. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," McGee said quickly.

"Nothing," I repeated immediately afterward.

"Nothing, if you want the truth." Tony looked pretty collective for someone caught at being surprised. "In the meantime, though, we should rest, before Gibbs decides to make us run without coffee and sleep for more than a day again. There's a lot of work to do."

All of us agreed, starting for the elevator to go to our rooms, since we were informed that it would work. However, just before we heard the ding that would allow us to enter the silver doors, we all heard a familiar voice behind us.

"DiNozzo! Get over here!"

"Oops," Tony only muttered, knowing that only Gibbs would call him over at a time like this. "I guess I don't get sleep tonight."

"Better you than us," McGee only answered as he, Ziva and I jumped into the elevator just as the doors opened and shut.


	37. Battles Beginning

I couldn't sleep. The storm outside lasted a lot longer than everyone expected, so the power was still out, but Mother Nature was starting to tamper off. The generator that was promised to last a while did not and soon enough, after Ziva, McGee and I had settled into our rooms, darkness set in. In the meantime, the management was handing out matches and many candles, cautioning everyone and lecturing about fire safety and that there was still no smoking on the property.

All was well, it seemed, as I settled in and started to actually read the book I brought with me, which had been kept (along with a lot of things) with Roy after I was kidnapped and sent to Henry Austin. Hell, I don't even think that I started doing that since Dad and I found Colonel Henderson dead, so I found it relaxing almost to sit back on the queen-sized bed and enjoy a good book.

However, events continued to conspire against me. Before I settled down completely and got into my story, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

"Come in," I called out, expecting the cleaning lady to come in and yell at me about the lights (and the lighter in my bra), but seeing Gibbs as soon as he opened and shut the door.

I scrambled into something resembling a proper sitting position, now expecting to be yelled at about something. I was wrong. Gibbs stood at the foot of my bed, an expression of compassion and some softness in his eyes. It had been there when we first met, when he was asking me who could have done such a thing as murder these Marines. It had melted when I walked to the Navy Yard and woke up in Autopsy. Now, it had come back and I didn't know what to do with it or even if this was some sort of game Gibbs liked to play.

Slowly, reluctantly, I put my book down. "Isn't it almost your bedtime?" I asked him, lightly sarcastic tones along those lines.

Gibbs shook his head, immediately taking a seat on the bed. "Aren't you supposed to be resting yourself?" he asked me in return, motioning to my red faces and arms.

I couldn't help by blush with embarrassment. "I am. I was reading a book like a good little girl."

"And yet, you don't put your foot down to the Director."

"Why should I? I'm only following her orders. And seeing as how you hate interns, Gibbs, I don't see how you care about me tagging along."

I knew that the comment to Gibbs would strike hard and it did. The softness in his eyes disappeared and hardened into what I was used to ever since he showed me Felix's police records. His hands clenched together in a death grip, his knuckles turning to white. Even his ears seemed to have pointed back, an animal threatened by another.

"When you're with me, you're in my care," Gibbs only said, his voice cold.

"And look where we are right now." I sat up straighter, on the defense as my anger rose. "Our main suspects have vanished, one of them on a boat to the U.S., as far as I know. We've got _no_ evidence leading anyone to the murders and Abby had something and would have told us _if_ we had power. Some of the Haitian government has their hands in the Black Crusade and possibly the murders. Two of the three warehouses are shut down, but the third in D.C. is still operational, as well as its headquarters, and we don't know where they are. A lot of people are dead, my sister amongst them…"

I visibly choked at the mention of Mara, still remembering what Jay had told me, but continued anyhow. "We've got a Pentagon file, illegally gotten into, mind you, and very little ground gained ever since Director Shepard sent those agents down. Now, we need to raid the same headquarters once more. We're up against some pretty bad odds. We've got no plan. We even don't have enough agents because nobody seems to want to take the Black Crusade seriously, since it all seems to be a myth, in many agencies' eyes, I'm guessing.

"And, most importantly, you feel a responsibility towards me because you think that I can't handle myself. You think that I've already had enough to deal with and that this little trip that I was authorized to go on might make me break down. I mean, poor little Lydia Sullivan gets smacked around because her father knows that she's a rape child and takes his anger out of her the most instead of her mother, who self-destructed. She found her mother's dead body and then found her sister dead. She was also sexually abused, on top of being mentally and physically abused."

I took a deep breath, expelling not only more sarcasm, but also how I was feeling, anger and frustration most of all, especially when I let out a secret that I've kept close to my heart for years now. "On top of that, ever since being initiated as some special agent for N.C.I.S., I was raped, killed a man in self-defense, illegally created a diversion to get out of a police station, survived an explosion, got kidnapped, jumped out of a ship to avoid getting killed and have had trust issues with just about everyone, Felix Henderson most of all. Jesus, how can I pass a psych exam without raising red flags?"

If Gibbs had any other feeling he showed me, it would have been shock. I don't think anyone spoke to him so emotionally, so _bluntly _before. All in the same span of time, however, his blue eyes showed me more that he was thinking along those lines. He was thinking of why his own boss would want to employ an A student in criminal sciences, studying under the best of the best, and was very trustworthy, but had a history of mental health that could make a file thicker than most. Already, they had an idea that I was shoving all of it to one side and putting my heart into the case first and foremost. However, I showed no one that I was reacting personally to the case, either, so they couldn't possibly figure out what was wrong with me.

And that, most of all, was dangerous. It was worse than being personally involved in a case.

Gibbs finally found his words, but it didn't address anything I said. "And that ring?"

"I remembered it from somewhere, but I don't know who it was that was wearing it." I turned away for a moment, to hide the tears that were swimming in my own eyes. "All I saw in my mind was the ring on his hand. It was a black hand. I don't recall any other markings on it."

"And it's making you think that it was somebody close to you?"

I faced Gibbs. "It had to be, Gibbs. It just had to be."

"Your father, you think, or one of the Hendersons?"

"I don't think so. Colonel Henderson was after the Black Crusade and so was his brother, Richard, remember. Dad was…well, one of them, but it makes me wonder why he got to escape and why Felix's father was shot dead."

"He could have worn one of the rings they picked up."

"And not tell someone from N.C.I.S. about it? Doubtful. Dad's careful about what he says and does. He protects his own, if it's in his interests. To own a ring from the Black Crusade because he was role-playing might be saving not only his own life, but maybe ours, as well as his girlfriend's, too. The cars passing by may not be someone watching him because he's an enemy, but someone who might have their interests in mind. He could be making himself out to be a victim when he really isn't."

Gibbs didn't quite look convinced, seeing as how he knew that Dad didn't care too much for me anyway. He only nodded in agreement.

"And Felix?" he asked me. "Any of his cousins you know?"

"No, I only knew Felix and his uncle," I confirmed. "I don't know his cousin, Victor. I don't even know his brother."

"And you've been battling as to why you should or should not trust Felix?"

"Because he's been there for me, no matter what," I replied hotly. "Felix has been covering my ass for as far back as I can remember. He's offered me a roof over my head when I needed it, put a shoulder out for me to cry on when I wanted one and has understood what it means to be an abused child, especially a child of a dangerous veteran."

"And Keith Bolton? Your boyfriend who seems to be just as dangerous?"

"Ex," I corrected, but the pain in my heart remained for the break-up he sent me, over the phone. "Yes, he's dangerous, but like I told you, and probably what Ziva told you, he didn't do anything. He doesn't have the gall to be taking down a Vietnam veteran, and a couple of them at that. He plays tough with Dad, but knows that he can't beat him, either. However, he can manipulate anything to be a weapon, no matter how hurt he feels. There's always the strength to beat your opponent."

Gibbs nodded again. It seemed like my logic had some solidity to it and the past and present had been where I had taken my hints. However, he was not satisfied with something.

"You know what would make you feel better?" Gibbs asked me randomly, unclenching his hands and allowing color back into them.

"What?" I was ready for anything, especially after this case was done.

"Punch your father. Beat him, even if you can't win."

I was surprised and it showed.

"He touches you one more time, puts a hand on you, punch him," Gibbs clarified. "He might have the training you don't have and you both will get arrested, but it'll close a lot of wounds."

"And if I die in the effort, like last time?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, causing me to wave my hand aside to dismiss telling a tale. "It's a long story, Gibbs, maybe for another night."

"It's not going to affect you being an agent, if that's what you're worried about –"

"No," I interrupted, not intending to be rude. "No. It's not that. It's that I don't think it a fair advantage. Jay, well, he ran for his life. He became a Marine after trying to go to school and having a job didn't work out for him. Mara didn't even bother fighting back and ran away with her son."

"Well, you have the chance that they didn't," Gibbs pointed out. "You die, your father gets charged with murder, amongst other things, and gets put away. It's justice."

"And me?" I was being selfish and I knew it.

"You'd have the satisfaction of trying and dying, knowing that you fought back. It was a good attempt at closure, too." Gibbs smiled and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It's not your fault that you were born under different circumstances, Lydia. You take the best of what you have and you make a difference. You're your father's daughter. You're a Marine's daughter. Somewhere, you have a well of strength that Captain Gregory Sullivan left behind."

I smiled, my words being echoed by a former Marine.

"Besides," Gibbs added as he got up, releasing me from his grip as he heard Tony in the hallway, "if you fought and lost, I'd be there to finish the job."

I had to smile wider for that. "Promise?"

"Oh, me?" Gibbs played innocent better than I could. "I wouldn't kill him outright."

Finally, Gibbs turned away from me and went to the door, opening it to call Tony in. As the Very Special Senior Agent came in and saw Gibbs in my room, he winked at me, as if he and I had something going on and that it was secret. However, Gibbs had turned back into the tough agent that he was and stared at Tony with his famous glare.

"What is it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, livid at being interrupted.

"Umm, Boss, we have a problem," Tony replied. "We have somebody out front at the hotel with an army of men and women behind him."

"So?" Gibbs sounded impatient, urging Tony to go on.

"Yeah, well, it's Henry Austin and his son," Tony finally let out. "He came back from his quick cruise to the U.S. and is demanding to talk to you and to you alone."

"He can't do that," I muttered, saying the most obvious and stupid statement.

Tony inclined his head towards me. "Yes, he can, Lyddy, and if we don't do what he wants, a lot of people are going to be killed here tonight."


End file.
